Automail
by BlackMercifulFaerie
Summary: Just a few RoyEd oneshots. Named after first story.
1. Automail

**Hello. This is Lina of the coauthored team of BlackMercifulFaerie. This is my first (but, God willing, by no means my last) FMA fic. Since my friend Nana's vocal chords have appeared to have gone on holiday, I did not get her input for this one-shot, which is just as well, cause she probably wouldn't have approved of it anyway. **

**It should be known that I have an affinity for EdRoy pairings (though Edvy—as demented and incestuous as that is—has been quickly clawing its way up my list) and that I am in a particularly smutty mood today. However, since I have never written slash before, this will probably turn into some fluffy, gobbledy-gook thing. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned FMA, I would be kissing my own feet . . . which would make me very flexible. Maybe then, I could get a boyfriend . . . all the money wouldn't hurt either . . . **

**I'm sad now cause I'm poor and lonely. Happy?

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**Automail**

_This shouldn't be so interesting_, Edward Elric thought to himself dully.

He and his commanding officer had just completed one of their little impromptu get-togethers—which weren't very 'impromptu', seeing as they occurred post- Ed's return from _every_ _one_ of his missions—and now, the blonde alchemist was lying next to the colonel, gently tracing the anatomic-geographical rises and hollows of Roy's back with his left hand.

_The feeling one._

Ed shifted back slightly to look down at his automail arm. The steel muscles and tendons glinted softly in the moonlight that was filtering through the nearby window. Despite the fact that this had been his arm for more than five years now, the sight of the cold, prosthetic . . . _alien_ limb made the alchemist shiver.

His automail was great. There was no denying that. The limbs were faultless as far as mechanics and nerve connections were involved and they were far more powerful and far _less_ fragile than the regular old flesh and bone that the rest of Ed's body was made of. (Besides, even if he had hated them, he would have kept his mouth shut out of fear of a certain blonde-haired mechanic and her Amazonian wrench.)

No. Ed definitely appreciated . . . even _loved_ his automail. But . . .

But . . .

But he just wished that they could _feel_. Ed would trade the power, stability, and even the stunted bayonet he could alchemically pull from his wrist . . . he would trade all that if he could feel again.

If he could touch Roy's hands and face and _body_ with both hands and know what that felt like. If he could hold the Flame close to him while they slept and not have his lover unconsciously squirm away from the coldness of his steel appendages. If only, just once, he could experience Roy's tender kisses on the palm of his right hand; God what he'd give . . .

_If only . . ._

Ed sighed as he shifted to wrap his arms around Roy and press his face into the depression between the older man's shoulder blades.

_Someday_, Edward mused, his golden eyes drifting shut. _Someday I'll be able to touch you and feel you . . . like you feel me.

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**I honestly don't know what this was. Maybe I'm high? –laughs- I'm just kidding, don't call the police!**

**Anyway, while I was writing this, I thought up another scenario with Ed and Roy. I might put that up here too. Later!**

**Review please.**


	2. Property

**Hello again. I didn't think that I would be 'continuing' this little fic, but apparently I am. This is another story entirely; too long to be a drabble, so I guess it's another one-shot. Much longer than the last one, but still good . . . I hope.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Are you high?

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**Property**

Roy Mustang was hunched over his desk, glaring daggers at the military form in his hands, onethat he was supposed to have read and signed well over ten minutes ago. And it wasn't the only one, either. There were several stacks on his office desktop that needed tending to before he left work that day, otherwise Hawkeye—blonde-haired, blue-clad, gun-toting paperwork Angel of Death that she was—would _metaphorically_ swoop down and put a _real_ bullet through his head.

The colonel mentally shook himself from his stupor and looked down at the form again. Really, he would rather just sign the damn things and be done with it; however, policy stated that he had to read them, so, he sighed begrudgingly and found the sentence that he had been rereading for the past ten minutes.

_Do you agree the above statements are true to the best of you and your subordinates' knowledge? If so, please sign below._

Now, Roy was smart.

He had an IQ of 165; he had become a State Alchemist at the age of 24 and had achieved the rank of colonel by the age of 28. He was going to be Fuhrer one day, come hell or high water.

A sentence so simple shouldn't have given him such pause.

However, all above statements relating to the Flame Alchemist's intelligence went down the proverbial toilet, when a certain short, blonde-haired alchemist was leaning over one aforementioned stack of unsigned papers, doing his damnedest—however unintentional—to distract Roy from his task.

Said alchemist noticed that Roy had lifted his eyes and was now glaring at _him_ instead of the paper. Ed blinked and asked innocently, "Done yet?"

Roy ignored the question. "Must you stand so close, Fullmetal? You're ruining my concentration."

"Sorry, Colonel. I didn't know you needed concentration to put your illegible scrawl on a line."

Roy growled, but said nothing as he finally signed the paper and added it to the small stack of completed work. Pulling a few more forms towards him, he looked up into Ed's golden eyes. "I'm serious. I can't get any work done with you being so . . ."

Roy paused, mulling over his word choices within the vast thesaurus of his mind, before finally sighing and lamely throwing out:

" . . . _there_. Besides, I need to get this all over and done with by eight tonight."

As Roy got back to signing, Edward leaned heavily against the stack of forms. "Why?" he asked, lifting a blonde brow and grinning mischievously. "Gotta hot date?"

Without looking up, Roy shrugged and said, "As a matter of fact, I do."

The grin vanished.

"Y-you _what_?" Ed asked incredulously. "With who?"

Roy signed the paper he was working on, pushed it aside and began on another before he answered Ed's question. "No one that you know, so don't worry about it."

"Don't wor—" Ed stopped himself before he turned into a mynah bird. The blonde took a deep breath before continuing, doing his best to keep his hands from balling into fists and smashing into the colonel's smug face. "But . . . but I thought that . . . that we . . .?"

He trailed off. Roy paused in his work to look up at the younger alchemist, dark eyes shining through his black fringe. "We are. But that doesn't mean that . . ."

There was an awkward pause while the self-proclaimed 'smart-with-an-IQ-of-165' alchemist tried for the second time in five minutes to come up with words that could fit the situation, if not make it—at the very least—_appear_ better.

" . . . that doesn't mean that I . . . that _we_ can't both see other people."

Edward's eyes were hidden behind his blonde bangs, keeping Roy from seeing his immediate reaction to the words. When he finally responded, his voice was gruff and heavy with several different emotions—anger being right up at the top of the list:

"But I don't _want_ to see other people!"

He threw his head up and Roy saw the tears dancing around the edges of his gold eyes, threatening to spill over. "And neither should you!" Ed yelled. "I . . . I won't let you! _You're mine!_"

The Flame Alchemist blinked in mild surprise as déjà vu lifted its ugly, horned head to grin at him. _This sounds familiar_, Roy realized with mild consternation. It took only a few more seconds for him to figure out why he thought thatthe scene had played out before.

It had been a few years back, before he had known the Elric brothers—a woman that he had been dating had turned viraginous whenever he had explained, in his most soothing, sultry voice no less, exactly _why_ he could not see her anymore.

"_You . . . you can't. I won't let you! You're mine and if I can't have you, then . . . then no one else can!"_

Needless to say, there had been a gun involved, one shot—which had embedded itself into the wall four feet to the right of Roy's head—ignition gloves, _snap_, some screaming, police, ambulance . . . a stay in the hospital while she recovered from her burns and then a padded room and heavy doses of medication.

Colonel Roy Mustang hadn't told anyone about this little incident; however, if he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that the Fullmetal had paid his old girlfriend a little visit at some point and they had swapped stories over tea and Thorazine.

Roy swallowed. He reasoned that Ed would not risk being imprisoned and kicked out of the military—thus ending his little search for a method to restore he and Al's original bodies—by killing his commanding officer . . .

Although, knowing Ed, he wouldn't put anything past him.

Roy arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips off to one side, trying to look amused at the comment. "Beg pardon?" he asked, sounding a bit croaky. "I'm . . . _what_?"

"Mine," the blonde answered immediately, fire dancing in his eyes. "_You_ belong to _me_! Nobody else!"

The black-haired man sighed, aggravation now replacing anxiety. "I belong to you, do I? Interesting . . . I've walked around for almost thirty years thinking that I was my own person! How silly of me!" Roy barked out an abrasive, mocking laugh before continuing. "I never realized . . . but it's so obvious now! _I belong to you_!"

Ed nodded, not at all put out by Roy's harsh words, and said, "Yep. You're my property."

Roy's annoyance with the whole subject had been biting at his legs like an angry chimera, slowly but surely pushing him back towards the looming edge of a cliff. Though he kicked and tried to fight the beast off, this comment was the final snap of saliva-stained teeth that sent Roy plummeting over the side into the abyss.

He stood up abruptly and bellowed, "Your _property_?"

Unmoved by the explosion that was Roy Mustang, Ed crossed his arms before his chest with steely, almost automail-esque resolve. "Yes, _my_ property. Your hands, your face, your mouth, your mind, heart, body . . . _especially_ your body . . ." Ed blushed slightly at this. " . . . are _mine_."

Roy trembled with rage, his gloved fingers wishing to snap and set the pint-sized alchemist ablaze. However, Roy knew that if he were to set his _office_ on fire—which had happened before—Hawkeye would kill him several times over and he wouldn't be able to go out on _any_ dates or enjoy _any_ extracurricular activities of _any_ kind, with _anyone_. So Roy stroked his temper and sat back down at his desk.

After a short time, he sighed and picking up his pen to begin signing papers again. Only after he had pushed away his first signed form did he reply to Edward, most childishly, "I don't see your name on them."

There was a pause as Edward rolled his eyes . . .

Then smirked.

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At her desk, Riza was startled, though admittedly not _entirely_ surprised, when she heard a loud crash from inside Roy's office, followed by some angry cries of protest. She sighed, but did not get up to see to the colonel.

Fullmetal had entered the office not twenty minutes earlier and—Riza knew all to well from personal experience—that it would be quite unwise, if not a little _unhealthy_, to interrupt whatever was going on.

However, as several muffled curses, yells and more crashes issued forth from behind the closed and, presumably locked door, Riza's curiosity got the better of her. Those two weren't normally _this_ loud.

Yet, as she stood up to go and investigate, the door flew open and a blonde, red, black, _grinning_ streak rushed out of Roy's office. As Riza watched Edward Elric disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall, the colonel nearly stumbled out of his office, yelling after him, "You get back here, Fullmetal! I'm not done with you! _Edward!_"

It was no use: Edward was long gone. Riza watched as Roy's shoulders slumped in defeat and . . . was that acceptance?.

"Um . . . Colonel?" she ventured. Hearing her voice, Roy turned to face her and Riza blinked.

Sloppily scrawled across his forehead, in what Riza didn't doubt was permanent marker, was a short message:

'Property of Edward Elric'

The Lieutenant fought hard to keep a straight face as she asked the colonel, "Should I cancel your date with Miss Rosewood tonight, sir?"

Roy narrowed his eyes, but sighed and mumbled an affirmative before stalking back into his office. As he closed the door behind him, he thanked whatever gods there were that—perceptive though Hawkeye might be—she didn't have X-Ray vision.

It would have been quite an embarrassment for both of them had she seen _where else_ Ed had signed him.

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**Tada! I'm finished. Maybe another one-shot later. I guess I'll have to change the title and summary. Please leave opinions for both in reviews.**

**Oh, yeah: review please!**


	3. Words

**Hey, I'm back! What follows is probably the shortest thing that I have ever written.**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned FMA . . . Roy would do more stupid stuff like this . . .

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**Words**

They had to be the most powerful words in the human language.

Those three monosyllables struck fear into the hearts of many a person, sending an electric tingle of anticipation and even dread up their spines. Though, even within that trepidation, there was a small sparkle of hope and readiness, a craving to prove yourself.

Yes, with those three words, that morphemic utterance, you could get a person to do anything you wanted.

Edward Elric smiled to himself as he watched Roy struggle to remove his now-stuck head from between two rails of the stairway banister at his estate. The Flame Alchemist growled down at the sweetly grinning face and yelled, "_You_ got me into this Fullmetal—you mind helping me out?"

The blonde just shrugged, still smiling up at his lover. "Nah . . . I think I'm good right here."

Pausing for a moment in his tussle with the railing, Roy whipped his hand out and snapped, attempting to set the chibi-alchemist aflame. Unfortunately for him, Edward knew that his lover was one to resort to violence if he got aggravated and, ever the promoter of fire-safety, had removed the Flame's ignition gloves _prior_ to their little game.

Roy howled in frustration and picked up where he had left off in his fight with the balustrade. Ed just laughed quietly at his lover's predicament.

Yes, indeed . . .

'I dare you' really _were_ the most powerful words that man had come up with.

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**Tee-hee. That really was short. Poor Roy . . . Don't get me wrong, I love him terribly . . . but I love picking on him just as much!**

**More coming later.**

**Anyhoo, please review!**


	4. Thunder

**Normally I wouldn't put up stories back to back like this, but I dropped my only class for Tuesday and, with loads of free time, I'm feeling generous. So here ya go!**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Please.

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**Thunder**

Roy Mustang lay asleep on the couch, the book he had been reading now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor where it had fallen, its pages sitting beneath it like the folds of an elegant, yet quickly discarded, wedding gown. Though Edward, book connoisseur that he was, found this annoying, he did not get up to correct the problem.

His despicably small frame was folded up comfortably to fit into an armchair and he was enjoying his own tome too much to move. Besides, if Roy awoke and found his previously abandoned book sitting neatly on the floor, its pages straight and flat and tidy, he would know _exactly _who had done it. Then he'd look at Ed with that smug, handsome _face_ and tell him about his obsessive tendencies when it came to literature and how it _somehow_ made him appear even shorter than he actually was.

Ed scowled at the unspoken insult. _Bastard_.

He quietly harrumphed and looked back down at his own book, quickly losing himself once again in the absorbent alchemic text. In fact, he was so engrossed in the work that he didn't even notice the swiftly approaching storm as it bore down on the estate.

It was actually an unusual sound that alerted him to the fact.

Not the pitter-patter of hard raindrops against the library window.

Not the violent crack of thunder as lightning tore down.

Not the fierce wind whipping the trees and shrubbery of Roy's estate around like Elysia playing with her dolls.

No.

What drew Edward's attention from his book was the small, barely-audible whimper that came from Roy's slumbering form. The blonde alchemist looked up in his lover's direction and was a bit shocked to see Roy now balled up against one armrest, his whole body shaking.

Ed's book hit the floor, his literature etiquette promptly pushed to the back of his mind, and he rushed to the older man's side. The blonde knelt down before the sofa and stared anxiously at Roy's contorted, sweat-sheened face. Reaching out with his flesh hand, he gently brushed the dampened hair away from his lover's closed eyes.

Thunder suddenly cleaved the night sky and Roy flinched like he had been burnt, throwing his hands up to clutch desperately at his hair, a pitiable moan welling up in the back of his throat.

Edward blinked. _Is he afraid of thunder?_

As if in answer to the unspoken question, the heavens opened up again and bellowed raucously, causing the colonel to whimper and flip over in his troubled sleep. Now staring at his lover's back, Ed let a small smile cross his face.

So Roy was afraid of a little thunderstorm, was he? Ed mentally made himself a sticky note—one that said this would be something he could later use as blackmail or something simply to chide the older man with—and stuck to the back of his brain. He found it funny that the great Flame Alchemist, egotistical, tight-assed, self-proclaimed pride of the Amestris militia, could be afraid of something as simple as the sound of air rapidly expanding. Ed almost laughed as he reached over to wake the man.

_Almost_.

The blonde alchemist's hand mutely hovered over Roy's right shoulder, the terrified and equally terrifying murmur that the man had just languorously uttered hovering in the air like cigarette smoke, leaving him completely numb.

"_Please . . . don't . . . I never wanted to . . . Please don't . . . kill me. I don't wanna die!_"

And as thunder cracked again, Edward Elric realized that Roy, though his body may have been curled up in a fetal state on the plush divan, had been transported back to the Ishbalan War

_(Massacre, Rebellion, genocide)_

and he was a soldier again.

Shortly after they had become seriously involved, Roy had explained to Ed exactly why he sometimes couldn't sleep.

Shortly after they had become seriously involved, Roy had told him why at other times he would thrash about and mumble things that his conscious mind wasn't aware of.

Shortly after they had become seriously involved, Roy had informed the blonde that sometimes . . . just sometimes . . . he would hurl himself out of bed, screaming with everything he had—screams that peeled paper and paint from walls, screams that shattered glass with their intensity, screams that, with their ferocity and sorrow, tore grown men's hearts from their chests and brought them to their knees.

Shortly after they had become _seriously_ involved . . . Roy told Ed about his dreams

_(nightmares)_

. . . and about his past . . . and his sins.

Roy had told him that sometimes, whenever he was alone with his own thoughts, he just wanted to rip the skin from his body because it would hurt _so_ much less. He told him

_(fuck, he had _told _him)_

why he hated the rain to terribly. Ed had always assumed that it was because he was the Flame Alchemist and water trumped fire no matter what game you were playing. But no . . .

He hated the rain because with rain came lightning, and lightning was accompanied by thunder which, to Roy, sounded remarkably like

_(BANG! CRASH! "Get down, goddamit!")_

bombardment on the bloodied fields of Ishbal.

Roy had told him all this one night.

Roy had confided in him . . .

And Ed had balked . . .

. . . then had thrown up on the floor.

Now back in the present, there was once again a momentary hiatus in Ed's assisting process as he considered what should be done, feeling the bile creeping up the back of his esophagus.

Horrors and phantom pains of a tortured past, deftly creeping in to jab cruel, spiteful prongs and rusted knives into an quiescent mind, were things that Ed had—and _still_—dealt with on a semi-regular basis, every time waking him up in a cold sweat, screaming, pleading to Al and his mother to _please_ forgive him.

(_I can't fix you! I'm sorry! It's all my fault and I can't do a damn thing about it! I'm _sorry!)

However, it was a completely different story to be the observer of the internal tryst of hated memories and unconscious, watching the trembling, sweating form of the dreamer as if he were going through some type of strange out-of-body experience. With _this_, Ed had pause. He was stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. Not only that, but the rock was more akin to a gigantic, flaming boulder and the hard place was covered in huge, poison-tinged spikes of steel.

He couldn't just let Roy lay there writhing in his own tormented agony—not with the lover in him twisting his heart and guts together into a cats-cradle of guilt and worry.

_Rock._

And if he woke Roy up . . . if he just shook him and told the Flame that he was scaring him, then Ed would have to later deal with re-inflating the bastard's ego; which, though fun at some points, was generally an unbearable pain in the ass . . . so to speak.

_Hard place._

Edward had no place to retreat to.

_So_, he reasoned. _Why should I? Why not march out and meet the monster head on?_

So he did.

Ed gently eased himself onto the couch, fitting snuggly between the colonel and the back of the plush sofa, then wrapped his arms around the tremulous form and drew him closer. The blonde didn't know if it was because it was _he_ who was now offering Roy comfort or simply the presence of another warm body, but soon the colonel relaxed and stilled in his embrace.

After a long time of quiet, Roy shifted and opened his red-rimmed eyes, looking up at his lover; black regarded gold for a moment, then quietly hid behind dark fringe. The man moved closer to Ed, draping his arm over him and snuggling his damp face into the young alchemist's chest. There was a mumble—something that sounded an awful lot like 'thank you'—and Ed smiled.

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**Hm, I actually wanted to end this differently; and I guess I still could, but this just seemed an appropriate finish. If y'all want, I'll put my intended ending up next chappie as sort of a continuation.**

**How's that sound?**

**Please review!**

**Oh, yeah:**

**Moerae: **-laughs- Truthfully it wasn't really an 'I dare you'. It was more like Ed _bet _the colonel that he couldn't fit his ego-swollen head through the railings without getting stuck. Of course, you know that Roy is never one to back down from a challenge, so . . .

Yeah . . .

**Vanilla Topping: **-giggles excitedly- No, I don't mind at all! Take it!


	5. Idiot

**Hello! I'm back again.**

**Note: Remember how I said that I wanted to add more to the end of the last chapter and that I'd probably put it up here? Well, that's what I'm doing. So, try it on . . . if you don't like it, then put it back on the shelf and we'll try to find something else in your size!**

**Disclaimer: I'm in college and I can't afford rent without my parents' help. You think I own FMA?

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**Idiot**

Ed sighed as he nuzzled his face into the crown of Roy's ebony hair, breathing in the Flame's comforting scent of soap and cinnamon. The nightmare had passed, along with the storm, and the alchemist—and night—were now, thankfully, still once again.

The blonde closed his eyes and whispered into Roy's hair, "You're really are an idiot, y'know."

Roy shifted slightly against his chest, but said nothing.

Ed continued, undauntedby his lover's silence. "You don't have to . . . _pretend_ . . . around me. You don't have to . . ." He paused, searching for the right words. "You don't have to be the brave one. Don't get me wrong—being an arrogant, egotistical asshole is part of your charm, but . . ."

The blonde alchemist opened his eyes and looked down at the top of Roy's head. He felt his heart tightening in his chest, his throat constricting, and he could feel that damn, familiar stinging in his eyes. There was a deep intake of breath, before Ed choked out in a hoarse whisper:

"_You don't have to smile if it hurts._"

The older man shifted again and Ed felt calloused fingertips slid beneath his shirt and gently brush the skin of his back. He could feel Roy's warm breath against his chest, even through the folds of his shirt, and Edward could sense the man's heart beating . . . quickening.

Or maybe that was _his_ heart . . .

"I love you, you stupid bastard," Ed whispered, feeling something warm and hopeful swelling in his chest—it was the first time in their relationship that either one had actually admitted it. "You know that, right?"

Roy moved and brought his face up to nuzzle the crook of Fullmetal's neck, groaning slightly in his sleep . . . completely oblivious to the young man's confession.

Edward gently placed his chin atop the Flame's head and sighed, letting his eyelids slowly drift shut.

"Maybe someday I'll tell you this when we're both awake."

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**Aw! I just love Ed so much! More later!**

**Please review!**


	6. Birthday

**Yay! It's my birthday today! I'm now 19! _Woot!_ **

**-does the '19-year-old-happy-dance' while singing- Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me!**

**-cough- Anyhoo . . . Yeah, so, in the spirit of Lina's birthday, you all now get a present! Can you guess what it is? Well, if you skipped this, then you're probably all reading it by now.**

**Hmm . . . you all get a gift on my birthday . . . I guess that makes me like . . . Jesus.**

**Note: For clarity's sake, let's just say that this one-shot takes place _before_ Ed and Roy start their relationship.**

**Disclaimer: I have my sanity . . . just barely. You want that?

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**Birthday**

It was a bad day.

Roy Mustang sighed gloomily as he glanced over at the calendar hanging from his office wall. He had been doing so all day, trying to catch himself in some sort of universal lie.

But ne . . .

It was indeed _that_ day.

The small square on the calendar was nondescript—no circles or stars or colourful stickers to indicate that it was indeed the day on which he was born.

His birthday.

Roy sighed again as he turned back to his paperwork. It really wasn't the actual fact that he was turning one year older that bothered him. It was more because it was his birthday—a very important birthday, he might add—and no one seemed to really care.

True he had received a card from his mother a few days previous, one decorated quite extravagantly with a large glittering 30 on the front. Inside there was a jovial little message about being over the hill and then a handwritten note, the gist of which was his mom wondering when he was going to give her and his father some grandkids to dote over.

Roy had thrown it away.

It was one thing that his parents remembered—they were his parents after all. But the colonel wanted some recognition from his subordinates as well. And he wasn't getting it.

_Hawkeye?_ Nowadays, she was so busy with Havoc that it surprised Roy when she remembered to show up to work. He didn't expect _either_ of them would recall that it was his 'special day'.

_Fuery?_ He was a good technician and an excellent subordinate, but Roy doubted whether or not he remembered his _own_ birthday.

_Breda?_ The colonel didn't know when his birthday was . . . why should the second lieutenant have to remember his?

_Farman?_ He had always worked under Hughes. He could probably spout off quite a bit information about Elysia's birthday, but Roy's? Most likely not.

_Hughes?_ Well, Hughes couldn't remember much of anything now, could he?

_And Fullmetal?_

Roy actually laughed out loud. Fullmetal? Even if, on the off chance, he recalled when his commanding officer's birthday was, there was no way that he'd acknowledge it, let alone actually get him anything. No. No way in hell . . .

There was a knock on the door, apparently only to be slightly courteous, before whoever it was walked in without consent. Roy glanced up from his paperwork.

_Well, speak of the vertically-challenged devil._

Fullmetal closed the door behind him and stalked over to the colonel's desk. "Here's the mission report you asked for," he said, flopping down onto the couch and unceremoniously throwing the manila folder onto the escritoire, atop all the other papers.

Roy quietly picked it up and began leafing through it, taking note of _exactly_ how many buildings Fullmetal had leveled while trying to apprehend the suspect. He sighed after reaching ten and shifted his dark eyes from the report to said alchemist, who was now sitting rigidly on the couch, glaring at the colonel, waiting for a reprimand. However, after only briefly reading it, Mustang grumbled something of an affirmative and put the folder back on his desk. "You're dismissed."

Edward looked confused. "Th-that's it?" he asked tentatively, quirking a blonde eyebrow.

Roy glanced up at him through his black fringe. "What did you expect me to say?"

The blonde shrugged. "I don't know. Something along the lines of—" Edward scrunched up his face uncharacteristically and mimicked Mustang's deep, authoritative, _disciplining_ voice, "'Fullmetal, _must_ you insist on destroying a whole town everytime you are sent away . . . blah, blah, blah . . . You know it makes me look bad . . . blah, blah, blah . . . You are so small and childish! BLAH!' HOW DARE YOU CALL ME SMALL!"

The elder Elric yelled the last part, then glowered at the man,fully realizing thatit was actually _he_ who had called himself small. He harrumphed, then grumbled, "Something along those lines."

Roy frowned and sighed tiredly. "No, Fullmetal, nothing like that. You're dismissed." He then went back to his paperwork, ignoring the genuine look of shock on Edward's face.

"You must be sick," the younger alchemist said quietly after a pause. "You're not being a complete asshole—what's _wrong_ with you today?"

"_Nothing_ Fullmetal," Roy answered dully, choosing also to ignore the insult. "And as I said before, you are dismissed."

Ed huffed, disgruntled, but got up and made to leave. Hearing the uneven footfalls, the colonel glanced up at the boy's retreating back—the black flamel dancing on a sea of red fire as he walked—not quite sure why his heart felt so dismally heavy.

Fullmetal had just arrived at the door, reaching out to clutch the handle, when he paused and let a short, "Oh," escape his mouth, as if he had forgotten something. At the sound, Roy looked up fully and watched in mute fascination as the blonde stiffly crossed the room again and came to a stop in front of the desk, a slight blush tinting his tanned cheeks. The teenager then leaned over the stacks of paperwork and planted a feather-light, almost chaste kiss upon his superior's lips, pulling back again before Roy had a chance to protest.

Though, the Flame Alchemist couldn't say that he really wanted to.

"Happy birthday," Ed said in all seriousness, giving the colonel a quick, faux salute type gesture, then turned away and very nearly sprinted from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Roy sat in the stunned silence for a while, then brought his ungloved fingers up to touch his lips.

And he felt a smile there.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

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**Done.**

**Please review! Even if it's just to wish me happy birthday! Thank you!**


	7. Milk

**Ahh! You like me! You _really _like me! -laughs- I just checked my stats and, like, almost 1,700 people have checked out my drabbles/one-shots! I feel so loved.**

**-scratches head- Of course, it'd be really nice if all y'all who put me in your favourites and alerts and stuff could please review, even if it's just to tell me that I'm now a fav. Please? -puppy dog eyes-**

**Anyhoo . . .**

**Note: This is a story of randomness and cheesedoodles. Frankly, I am running out of ideas. **

**Disclaimer: The offer of my sanity still stands . . .

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**Milk**

Edward Elric hated his brother.

Well . . . maybe not _really_. He and Al had been through so much together. They had committed the taboo and lost their original bodies in the process—Al losing his completely to the other side; they had fought of robbers, murderers and homunculi et al; they had lived and doubted and cried and laughed and hated and loved. And through it all they had been brothers. Family.

_("We're all we've got!")_

No. Ed didn't hate Al.

He just didn't like him very much right now.

Because Al, ever cognizant when it concerned Ed's wellbeing, had gone behind his brother's back and recruited his boyfriend to get him to be more 'health-conscious'. And Mustang—probably less out of caring for the elder Elric and more out of finding a way to scratch the mischief-itch he had—had wholeheartedly agreed.

Now, because of Al, Roy had insisted that Ed . . . drink . . . _milk_.

_(Yuck!)_

Because of Al, when Ed refused—which all parties involved knew would happen—Roy had cut him off.

Because of _Al_, Ed wasn't getting any!

It had been almost two months now since Roy had told a shocked Ed this, and the black-haired alchemist still hadn't touched him. At first, Edward had reasoned that he could outlast the older man. After all, Roy was the one who—before Ed—had to pick up and sleep with women on a regular basis; meanwhile, hadn't Ed gone almost seventeen years before he lost his virginity? Mustang's sexual needs were much more . . . well, _needy_ than his, weren't they? He was full of burning passion.

Being the Flame Alchemist and all.

And besides, Edward hated . . . ne, _loathed_ milk. It was the bane of his existence. He felt about the disgusting cow-juice the way the colonel felt about paperwork. In fact, he probably hated milk more than he liked having sex with Roy . . . having Roy kiss him and touch and caress him with those expert hands and lips and tongue and . . . and . . .

_Oh God, how he hated his stupid little brother!_

"Something wrong Fullmetal? You've been acting extraordinarily cranky these past few weeks." Ed glared up at his superior/estranged lover, who was seated across the table smirking at him over their lunches. "Do you need a diaper change?"

The blonde felt his lip curl. "Fuck you."

Roy crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow. "Now, you know I can't do that until you drink at least _one_ glass of milk. After all, I did make a promise to Alphonse."

"Fuck Al, too," Ed responded crankily, putting his chin down on the lunch table, using his glass of unwanted, white beverage to block his view of the Flame Alchemist.

He heard Roy chuckle, then say, "As _interesting_ as that would be, I'm afraid it might throw a major kink in our relationship . . . him being your brother and all."

The boy sat up and glowered. As mentioned before, Ed, at first, was positive that he could outlast Roy in this weird game that he had started. It had taken one week before the blonde realized how incredibly wrong he had been.

He wanted Roy.

Badly.

Week number two found Ed sleeping in a guest bedroom at Roy's estate, instead of in the master. One night after this, the colonel had begun to lock his door at night. This had pissed the alchemist off quite a bit—to say the least—and he had actually considered dumping the man.

However, seven more days drained all the hatred out of him and filled him up with sorrowful heartache when he wasn't around Roy . . . and heated, lustful need when he was.

Sometime in week four the raunchy, steamy dreams had started . . . and they had continued all the way to present.

Weeks five and six consisted of numerous failed attempts to try and seduce Mustang—many of the plans influenced or inspired by the dreams of week four. At one point, Ed had snuck into his office while the colonel was away, stripped, donned one of those miniskirt things that the bastard was so fond of, struck a sexy pose and awaited his return.

Of course, Edward had heard of Murphy and his damnable laws.

He just didn't know what a malicious, infuriating bastard the man could be.

Even now, Ed still couldn't look Havoc in the eye.

In week seven, it would be reported by his coworkers that the elder Elric had begun acting particularly strange. He took to being by himself for long periods, either sitting in the library or taking walks—if anyone interrupted him, even Al, he would lash out at them with abhorrence he normally only possessed when someone mentioned his height. He could also be seen walking down the halls of Central HQ, talking to himself or sobbing hysterically or laughing at nothing at all.

"It's stress," everyone said.

Mustang had just sighed and shaken his head and considered sending Fullmetal on a mission to take his mind off of everything . . . and to get the blonde away from him. He'd never admit it, but seven weeks

_(49 days; 1,176 hours; 70,560 minutes; 4,233,600 seconds . . . not that he was counting, of course)_

without so much as a kiss from the younger man was starting to get to him.

However, week seven had come and gone, taking Edward's odd behavior with it. Now, at the beginning of week eight, he was back to being angry and hostile towards anyone who looked at him. That included Roy.

Roy Mustang; Flame Alchemist; colonel; bastard . . . who was now sitting across the table, smirking at him knowingly, looking so smug and so arrogant and proud and handsome and sexy and Ed didn't know whether he wanted to smack him or scream or come or maybe do all of them together . . .

He groaned and averted his eyes, blushing madly as his deceitful libido went straight south.

Roy just smiled wider and whispered, "You know what you have to do." He then looked pointedly at the glass of milk which sat before Ed, untouched. "To get what you want . . . all you have to do . . . is drink. Me for the milk. Equivalent Exchange."

Just as the flame of a candle dances dangerously before the assault of wind, so too did Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, flinch in shock as Edward Elric slammed his unequal hands down on the table, drawing the attention of everyone seated in the mess hall. He then stood up and, much to Roy's surprise, calmly walked away without saying a word.

Mustang watched him disappear, conscious of the eyes that were now upon him, and then looked back down at the glass of milk. He caught his reflection in the white liquid that had started all this and swore he saw regret there. Roy sighed.

_Maybe I _did _push Edward too far_, he thought to himself.

The black-haired man was just about to get up and go after his young lover, when said blonde came stomping back into view and plopped back in his seat, a look of gritty determination plastered on his face. Roy watched in mute amusement as Ed began some sort of odd dance with his glass:

He picked it up, put it back down again; reached out his hand, withdrew, reached out, withdrew, stood up and walked away. He made it halfway to the doors before he turned around again and sat down, picking up the glass once more. He held it for a few seconds, a look of dread in his golden eyes, then slammed the glass down—causing some of the drink to spill out onto the table—got up once again, made to leave, but only ended up circling the chair before he sat down again. He reached out his hand, withdrew, then reached out and took hold of the glass for a third time.

It stayed in his hand for several silent moments—by now, everyone in the mess hall had stopped what they were doing to watch the blonde alchemist perform his little act—then he brought the glass rim up to his lips and began to hurriedly drink it down. Roy held back his laughter as he watched Ed, who suddenly looked so much younger than he had only seconds ago, eyes clamped shut in disgust, milk dribbling out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

When the last drop of the milk was finally downed, Ed roughly slammed the glass down on the table and ran a black sleeve across his mouth. There was scattered clapping as everyone who knew of the Elric's aversion to milk began to applaud his actually finishing a whole glass.

Roy let a genuine smile creep across his usually masked face, before he stated, "Well Fullmetal, I am impre—_ooph!_"

'Ooph' being what one says when a sexually frustrated, diminutive, blonde alchemist tackles one from across the table, thus knocking them both to the floor, then captures one's lips in a fierce, passionate, impatient kiss, not caring who is there to witness the strange occurrence.

When Ed was finally forced to come up for air, he pulled back and looked down into the older man's black eyes. Roy grinned and said quietly, "Glad to see you haven't lost it, Fullmetal."

"Same here, you bastard."

"I knew you'd drink it."

"Shut up." Edward grabbed the Flame by the collar of his uniform, pulled him up and then, ever-so gently, smacked his head against the floor. As Roy recoiled against the onslaught to his skull, reaching up to rub the lump already forming there, Ed leaned down and whispered, his eyes narrowed dangerously, "And if you ever try anything like that again Mustang, I'll throw you out a fucking window. Your pain for my pain. Equivalency."

And as Edward descended hungrily upon his lips once again, Roy reminded himself that it was probably better not to mess with Fullmetal.

_Though_, he thought to himself as he caught an adventurous hand, _how can I help myself?

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**God, I'm so tired! 3am . . . **__blah!_If y'all think it sucked towards the end, that's why. Well, I'm going beddy-bye! Night-night!

**Oh, if y'all have requests, please leave a review and I'll see what I can do for ya. Like I said, I'm running out of ideas. -laughs-**

**Please review! Tankie!**

**Moerae: **-laughs- Glad I could help out. Hope you do good!

**Prozacfairy: **-nods- You're right. And thanks!


	8. Godsend

**Hello again! Oh, so many reviews! And they're all nice ones—no flames! Yet . . . **

**Oh, and I really enjoyed my B-day, thanks everyone—my little sis got me an FMA calendar and the first DVD! _Huzzah!_**

**Anyhoo, it should be noted that I came up with this very short fic while listening to a song. No, dearies, this is not a songfic; I'm just mentioning it because it was a really good song. "Back in his Arms".**

**Disclaimer: The only things in the world that have ever truly belonged to me are my snakes—who you can't have—and PMS, which, frankly, I would pay you to take away.

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**Godsend**

The subject of religion had always been a bit touchy with the Elric brothers.

Most would say that it was because they were alchemists, scientists, 'little gods of the world' as Mephistopheles had once said. And that may have been partly true; however, to those who knew of their pasts, it was blatantly obvious why the two boys did not believe in God:

Orphaned by the ages of nine and ten; survived a failed human transmutation by the skin of their teeth, one losing his whole body and forced to live as suit of armor; the countless number of times they had nearly been killed—two of which were attempts by religious zealots. And all this by the ages of sixteen and fifteen . . .

One had to wonder how they could _ever_ believe.

Though both boys were undoubtedly atheist, the younger of the two, Alphonse, did not disregard the idea that people believed in a power higher than alchemy as viciously as his brother did. Al could at least accept the fact that different people had faith in different things—Leto, Ishbala, God . . . Equivalent Trade.

To Edward, there was nothing beyond the concept of Equivalent Exchange; no higher power than alchemy. If it couldn't be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt with science, then it didn't exist.

Having faith in something one couldn't see or touch was for the ignorant and naïve.

No. Edward Elric was not religious.

He did not believe in God.

But then Roy Mustang had kissed him . . . He had walked around his desk while Ed was shouting, leaned over, and silenced the blonde with by gently pressing his lips against Edward's. The Flame Alchemist had then brushed past the stunned, blushing Fullmetal, heading for the door; Ed had spun to face his superior, to say something. _Anything._

But, for the first time in his life, he couldn't seem to find his voice . . . because, in that moment . . .

He believed that he saw the hands of God.

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**Done here. Hope you like. Now for reviewer worship.**

**Anime Freak Girl: **-laughs- Sorry. I have a Pembroke Welsh Corgi who is 15 pounds heavier than he should be, so . . . -shrugs- I learned from the best. I'll try to do your request. Maybe as a crack drabble. That okay?

**mizukimarr910: **Oooo, kinky. -laughs- I'll try to give you something! Thanks.

**TokyoKitty16: **I love milk, too. My mom is always fussing at me, cause I drink it straight from the carton. Though, all of Ed's friends and stuff are wrong—milk doesn't make you grow any faster than normal. I drink it all the time and I'm only 5'2". I'm shorter than Ed!

**Prozacfairy: **Boy, you said a mouthful.

**Vampirina08: **Glad you liked!

**littlefiction: **Thanks!

**Sao: **-laughs- You had it right; only one 'm'. And thanks!

**inuyashbooklover5188: **-gasps- Naughty! You should be doing your work! Though, I'm glad that my fanfic could inspire such an act of deviance. Thank you!

**See y'all next time! Bye!**

**Please review!**


	9. Don't Get Sick

**I swear my dog should work for the frickin' military. She kills hummingbirds by throwing things at them (yeah, you heard me), and the other day, she caught an owl!**

**Nana: Damn Margeaux. She hurt Hoot-Hoot!**

**Lina: Oh, by the way readers, this (points up) is Nana. She's my best friend and coauthor of BMF. Say hello, Nana.**

**Nana: (waves) Hey. I'm just stopping by to see what you were doing. I keep getting 'Automail' reviews in my email and it's driving me crazy!**

**Lina: How many are there now?**

**Nana: 64**

**Lina: (throws arms up in jubilation) Yes! I beat the 50 mark! Woo-hoo! (dances)**

**Nana: (sighs and looks at readers) You see what I have to put up with?**

**Lina: (stops dancing) Oh, yeah. Readers: because the last chapter was a shorter one, this one's gonna be longer. Much longer. And, you should be _WARNED_ that this is my first attempt at a _fruit_ as per request of **mizukimarr910**. Whether it's a lime, lemon, or . . . tangerine even I don't know. I _do_ know that I upped the rating a bit as to not incur the wrath of the gods of fanfiction. net, so I hope you all enjoy my first attempt at smut.**

**Now, Nana, you wanna give the disclaimer?**

**Nana: K. (clears throat) If either of us owned FMA, Roy and Ed would spend the majority of their time screwing each other and the show wouldn't have progressed very far.**

**Lina: (rolls eyes) Good job, Nana.**

**Nana: Thanks.

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**Don't Get Sick**

Edward Elric hated being sick. He hated it almost as much as that colonel bastard and being called short. He hated feeling like someone had transmuted his head into a giant cotton ball and then had made him swallow a chainsaw. He hated it.

No. Edward Elric did not like being sick. Not one _smidgeon_.

Coincidentally, Alphonse Elric didn't particularly care for it either; for when his brother came down with something, it was _he_ who had to look after him and, consequently, had to deal with the blonde's bitching and moaning while _being_ looked after. Ed would snarkily tell him how lucky he was that he couldn't get sick anymore and Al, tired from everything else, would say that he would _gladly_ trade places with his brother if he could; the elder Elric would snap back how he wished that as well, they would fight a bit, and then usually, Alphonse would storm out of the room, leaving Ed to wallow feverishly in sweat-drenched sheets and his own self-pity.

No. Alphonse Elric did not like _Ed_ being sick. Not one _bit_.

Now, Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist extraordinaire, did not _get_ sick. He chalked it up to the excellent immune system that had been passed down the Mustang line for generations—dully noting every time he said this how much he reminded himself of Armstrong—and to being hygienically conscious.

Havoc often goaded him about being a germophobe because he washed his hands so often. Roy would just correct him, saying that it wasn't 'germophobe'—that it was actually 'bacteriophobe'—and the blonde man would simply shrug and say, "Well, you're that," then would walk off, trailing cigarette smoke.

Honestly, to Roy, washing his hands was more of a tic. At some points in the day, he would look down at the tanned skin and well-manicured nails and just _have_ to scrub them.

Because, in his mind, the blood and sin were still there.

But that is neither here nor there. The fact was that, no matter what the cause, Roy Mustang was as healthy as . . . well, a _horse_.

No. Roy Mustang did not get sick. Not one _cold_. Ever.

So, it came as no surprise to anyone really that, because the colonel had never been sick and did not know that it felt like having Scar blow your brains apart inside your skull, he had little sympathy for any of his subordinates when they were ill and insisted that they still return their paperwork in a timely manner.

That included Fullmetal.

So, of course, when Alphonse came to the colonel, telling him that Edward couldn't possibly turn in his work because he had come down with a cold, Roy, expert physician that he was, had diagnosed it as contemptuous laziness, pure and simple.

Fullmetal was faking to get out of paperwork.

Now, it may be said that, at that moment, Riza Hawkeye walked in and, hearing the comment about the young major, had rolled her eyes and muttered, "Hypocrite." But, that can't be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. It may also be said that, had Alphonse been one of Mustang's subordinates, he might have done the same.

_Might_ have.

However, seeing as how the younger Elric wasn't in the military, he _somehow_ still held respect for his brother's commanding officer. So he simply insisted that, trust him, Ed was really, actually sick.

Sick as a dog.

A dog of the military, as it were.

Roy, grumpy and busy with his own paperwork, had dismissed Al with a message to Fullmetal, saying that—albeit, begrudgingly—he didn't have to come in to work, but the colonel still expected every single one of his mission statements to pass over his desk by the end of the week.

That had been on Wednesday.

It was now Monday of the following week and the colonel had seen neither hide nor bright blonde hair of the eldest Elric, not to mention _any_ of his paperwork. To say the least, this made Roy a little . . . _pissed_. So, when he found himself outside Fullmetal's quarters, pounding on the door with the side of his fist, it wasn't surprising.

"Elric, I am giving you to the count of _ten_ to get up!" he bellowed. Then he waited.

_. . . five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . ._

"Fullmetal, wake up you lazy ass!"

After several rounds of violent knocking and yelling the boy's name—along with numerous insults and curses—through the door, gaining much attention from passersby in the process, Roy finally grumbled and slipped on his ignition gloves.

_Snap!_

Within seconds, the condensed flame had melted the internal workings of the lock, singeing the wood in the process, and Roy pushed the door open. Looking back on it, he probably should have just gone and retrieved the master key or found Alphonse—who was obviously not in the room at the time—and have him unlock the door. Now, he would have to find someone (alchemist or no) to fix the lock and that would mean incident and maintenance reports to fill out—paperwork—and then, depending on how long that took, Roy might have to temporarily move Fullmetal and co. into another room—even _more_ paperwork—and . . . and . . .

Mustang sighed. The boy had just proven himself to be more trouble than he was worth . . . and to top it all off, he wasn't even a decent size.

Roy grinned at the thought and put it in a bin labeled 'Fullmetal Insults' in the recesses of his mind, storing it for later use. He then frowned down at his handiwork and sighed. Yes, there would have been far less politically messy ways to go about opening the door.

But, Roy reasoned as he stepped across the threshold, he liked messy.

_Especially when it came to Fullmetal._

The raven-haired man halted mid-step. As innocent as he had intended the statement to be, the innuendo, however unintentional, flashed like a neon sign through his thoughts and he felt his pale cheeks grow hot.

_I like things messy, especially when it involves Fullmetal?_ Roy thought to himself incredulously. _What's the matter with me? I hadn't even meant that!_

'_Is that so?' _a small, grinning part of his brain commented.

_Yes. I just meant that . . . I like having him around the office . . . to pick on. He's entertainment. It's fun to get him riled up—to get a rise out of him._

'_Oh? Is that the reason you wait with bated breath after he returns from his missions? Beg pardon. I thought it was something else.' _Roy frowned. Despite the fact that he had grown used to the other voice—the one that sounded remarkably like his, except that it had _teeth_—it still annoyed the crap out of him. Especially when it had a point.

_No . . ._ Roy told himself._ I hadn't meant it like that. It was all just some brainless faux pas—a slip of the mind's tongue. A misunderstanding. That's all._

'_Then why are you still thinking about it?' _the leering part asked. _'If it truly _was_ nothing, then get on with waking the boy up.'_

The colonel sighed heavily and shook his head, trying to chase away the uncomfortable thoughts along with the blush that still stained his cheeks. Of course, that part of his conscious was correct. "Might as well get this over with," he muttered to no one in particular, then made his way through the small living room to bedroom door.

It was closed, though, when Roy tested the handle (afraid that he might have to melt another lock) he found that it opened easily. The door swung inwards, revealing the cramped, Spartan sleeping quarters of a military lifestyle—bare white walls, wooden floor, a single dresser, and one thinly-matrassed bed. As Roy's eyes fell on said bed, he caught sight of target of his rekindling hostility.

Fullmetal lay entangled in the white linen, flesh leg and automail arm flung haphazardly off the side of the mattress, toes and fingers grazing the floor. His golden eyes were hidden behind lids and his mouth lolled open as he snored quietly, his bare chest slowly rising and falling. As Roy moved closer, he noticed that there was a thin layer of sweat coating the boy's body; his messy, blonde hair had been taken out of its usual plait and put up in a tight bun, probably to keep it off of his neck and he now had some sort of headband keeping his bangs out of his face. Roy took in a breath and was almost overcome with the lingering scent of illness that hung over the room like a miasma.

Roy felt some of his aggravation ebb away. _So Fullmetal really _has_ been sick . . ._

'_So what?' _came the voice. _'Illness is for the weak.'_

_But, Fullmetal isn't weak. He's a prodigy . . . a legend. Edward couldn't be those things and not be strong._

There was a pause and Roy could almost see the voice smirk. _'So it's 'Edward' now?' _The colonel chose to answer this with silence, so the voice just shrugged and continued, _'How sweet. So, I guess that 'Fullmetal' is just a term of endearment, right?'_

_Oh, shut up. _At this point, the Flame hardly cared that he was arguing with himself. It was pointless, he knew, to try to reason with that leering part of himself and he suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for his subordinates who had to deal with it on a daily basis. _I'm just saying that the boy isn't weak. Fullmetal was strong enough at eleven to survive human transmutation._

'_He was stupid for trying that in the first place,' _the voice reasoned.

_He survived Laboratory 5 and Scar._

'_By the skin of his teeth.'_

Roy smirked. _He beat you in that competition. You hesitated and he could have cut your throat if Bradley hadn't intervened._

There was a pause, before the voice sighed and stated smugly, _'Who's this 'you'? We're one in the same or have you forgotten?'_

The smirk faded as Roy realized that this was true and, though he hated to admit it to anyone—even if that particular 'anyone' was himself—he couldn't look back on that day without feeling a tad flustered that he had allowed his stoic mask to slip ever so slightly; a little miffed that it had been the Fullmetal to do it; and a hint of jealousy that the blonde teen had actually been able to beat him.

Roy finally sighed and gave up, choosing instead to focus his energy on getting Fullmetal up, instead of on an internal battle of wits and rhetoric that he really had no way of winning. The older man stopped at the bedside, taking note of Fullmetal's pale, clammy skin, before he removed a glove and place his bare hand on the Elric's forehead. Very few times had Roy taken other people's temperature—in fact, most of the times he had been forced to play doctor was on the battlefields of Ishbal, where, when a man had a bullet to the lung and was missing a leg, his temperature was furthest from anyone's mind—but the colonel could tell that Edward was holding a steady temperature.

_If he had a fever, _Roy mused, _it's already broken. He isn't sick anymore._

'_So wake him up,' _the obnoxious voice chided.

Roy wanted to obey the command, but for the life of him . . . he couldn't take his hand away from Fullmetal's face. He let it slowly move down to cup the boy's tanned cheek and gently run his finger across his dry bottom lip.

_His skin is soft. Not like I'd imagine . . . I mean, he always acts so tough, you'd expect his skin to be hard._

'_What are you talking about?'_ came the voice. For some reason, it sounded slightly panicked. _'And what're you doing? Just wake him up!'_

If, at this point, Roy had wanted to take his hand away, he would have resisted the urge, simply because it appeared to be making that part of him so uncomfortable. He smirked to himself and brought his hand back up to run through the blonde hair.

_And his hair is so smooth. You know that he hasn't washed it in days, but it still feels like silk._

'_So what? Your hair is like that, dumbass!'_

Still grinning, Roy brought his hand down and gently traced Fullmetal's collarbone. _He's really well-built. When I was his age I'd only started training to get into the military. _Roy moved his hand down again to Fullmetal's chest and ran one finger along the junction where metal met flesh. _Except for the automail, his body is . . . perfect._

'_God, just turn him over and fuck him, why don't you! Doesn't that sound fun? Because I'm not sure if you know this, but pedophilia, molestation, sodomy and rape . . . no matter how you look at it, you do it to a State Alchemist—a prodigy no less—and you can kiss that little Fuhrer thing you're going after goodbye.'_

At this comment Roy did take his hand away. Not really because of what the voice had said—though it be true—but because he realized that he was enjoying touching Edward a little more that he should have.

'_You just need to get laid,' _reasoned the voice with a sigh.

_Damn straight, _Roy seconded, agreeing with the voice for the first time in a long while.

'_Now, wake the kid up.'_

Roy huffed a sigh and put his hands on his hips. "Fullmetal," he said. "Fullmetal, it's time to get up." Edward just snored more loudly. The colonel's eye twitched in annoyance as he reached down and took ahold of the blonde's metal shoulder, giving him a shake. "Fullmetal, get up. I'm not joking."

The younger alchemist groaned in aggravation, then sleepily reached up and pushed away the offending hand, before falling back into stillness. Roy growled in frustration. The kid sure could sleep—if he hadn't just moved, Roy would swear that he was comatose. Sleep hard, eat hard, fight hard, live hard . . .

Roy sighed. Fullmetal never took the easy route on anything.

_Well . . . if he wants to play that game . . ._

The colonel smirked and the voice came back in a hurry. _'What're you thinking?'_

_I'm gonna wake him up._

'_. . . How, pray tell?'_

The raven-haired man's grin widened. _I'm gonna scare him awake._

'_. . .'_

Happy and proud that he had finally managed to shut that part of his brain up, Roy then commenced with his plan to shock the elder Elric to consciousness. He climbed onto the bed, placing his knees on either side of the teen so that he was now straddling his stomach and put his hands on the thin pillow supported Edward's head. Bringing his face down to where it was mere inches away from Fullmetal's, Roy grinned and said loudly, "Edward, if you don't wake up right now, I'm going to start doing things to you."

The blonde's face contorted slightly at the noise, but quickly relaxed again as he shifted under the colonel, turning his head and revealing the taut muscles of his neck and shoulder. "Fullmetal!" he warned one final time.

Nothing.

Roy Mustang sighed. "All right, if you want to be like that." He then, with only a slight hesitation, brought his head down to the younger alchemist's neck and began to lightly nip and suckle the skin there, teasing his way down towards Fullmetal's clavicle.

* * *

Someone was touching him. 

Though Edward was certain that he hadn't given this person permission to feel him up as they were doing, he also couldn't help but feel that the contact wasn't exactly unwelcome, and he shifted on the bed to allow the person better access to his neck. Whoever it was obliged, using their tongue and teeth to work their way down the thick chord of muscle and began gently abusing the flesh of his collarbone.

As they descended further and began to work on his nipple, Ed let a low moan escape his lips, earning an amused chuckle from his partner.

That laugh. It sounded . . . kinda . . . like . . .

_Mustang._

Edward Elric's eyes flew open, he sat bolt upright, and was greeted with nothing but smugness and ebony eyes. "So you're finally awake?" Mustang cooed, said eyes dancing. "You feel better?"

What. The. _Fuck_?

The Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People, squeaked like a cornered mouse and threw himself away from his commanding officer; he only managed to make it as far as the headboard, but as far as Edward was concerned, that was a good start. Mustang blinked, a look of concern on his handsome face.

"You all right?" he asked tentatively, then shifted his weight. Ed, numb and incapable of movement at this point, watched in a mix of horror, shock, and dull fascination as the colonel slowly reached up to caress his cheek. "Hm. You don't feel like you have a fever anymore," the man muttered. "Are you sure you feel okay?"

Temporarily ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming at him to lob Mustang's hand off, Ed tore his eyes away from the offending digit and brought them back to the older man's face. He looked apprehensive, but he was smiling. Not smirking, not grinning, not leering—smiling.

Ed felt the blush creep up into his face.

Now feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, the blonde swallowed hard and shifted his eyes down to the bed, away from Mustang's face. Of course, this particular action did nothing to alleviate Edward's embarrassment, owing to the fact that the colonel was sitting before him naked.

Naked.

Sure, the covers had wrapped around his thin hips, covering up a vital part of his anatomy, but the colonel was still blushingly, undeniably _nude_. Ed made a sound like air being let out of a wet balloon and quickly turned the colour of his infamous coat. Clamping his golden eyes shut, he bellowed, "What the hell, you asshole? Why are you in my bed and why don't you have any clothes on?"

There was a long silence—well, as silent as it could be for Edward, whose blood was pounding loudly in his ears—before he felt the other occupant of the bed shift around and move closer to him. He felt the hand that had pulled away slightly at his outburst reappear at his temple, brushing back his unruly bangs and he flinched at the contact.

"Ed, what's the matter? Are you all right?"

_E-ed? H-he called me Ed . . . What the hell is going on?_

The young alchemist let his eyes flutter open . . . and gasped. Mustang had moved uncomfortably

_(dangerously)_

close. So close, in fact, that Ed could now see flecks of brown and even deep green mixed in with the onyx of his eyes; so close that the smell of sweat and cologne and charcoal and musk and cinnamon was almost overpowering; so close that he could feel the heat and worry radiating off of his superior's skin; so close he could almost _taste_ Mustang's warm breath on his lips.

Ed gulped down the lump of apprehension in his throat and averted his eyes off to his right . . .

And blinked.

White. There was nothing but a huge expanse of white as far as the eye could see. It seemed that his room, along with the rest of Central Headquarters, had vanished, leaving only him, his bed, and his unclothed commanding officer. Ed shook his head slightly and looked off to his left, where he discovered the same thing.

"Hey," the raven-haired man pressed. "You feel okay? You look kinda pale . . ."

"No fuckin' shit!" Ed yelled before he could stop himself. "How the hell would you feel if you fell asleep, then you woke up to find you're in some . . . giant white room . . . with your worst enemy butt-naked in your bed like they were invited there—which you're _not_! Now, get away from me!" Ed barely registered the hurt expression on Mustang's face, before he brought his hands up and shoved the man away by his shoulders, noticing, but at the same time trying _not_ to notice, how utterly _delicious_ the muscles felt beneath his fingers.

"Edward? What's wrong with you?" Mustang reached up and caught Ed by his upper arms, squeezing the flesh to try and get a reaction other than violence out of the shorter alchemist.

And he got it.

The elder Elric stopped dead, going stiff at his touch. Then, by almost painfully slow degrees, he turned his head to look over at his right arm. Flesh. From the tips of his fingers, running all the way up to his shoulder, was a smooth span of soft, peachy-coloured flesh.

The automail had disappeared.

Heart pounding painfully, Ed hastily brushed off Roy's hands and pulled the covers back to look down at his once-metal leg. That, too, had been replaced with bone, muscle, tendons, blood, and skin.

_What the hell . . .?_

He suddenly felt strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him up into a sitting position, his bare back flush against the cool wood of the headboard. Mustang stared at him, his eyes now alight with anxiety and frustration. "You need to take it easy, Ed," he commanded. "You might not be sick anymore, but you are still recovering."

Ed blinked. "S-sick?"

"Yes . . . you had a fever before you fell asleep a while ago. It only just broke, so you have to be careful not to overexert yourself."

The Elric fell silent, his eyes narrowing as he processed this bit of information. "I was asleep." It wasn't a question, but Mustang slowly nodded an affirmative. Ed stared into his face for several seconds, then looked down at his hand once more; he flexed his fingers, feeling and seeing the tight muscles move beneath the skin.

_So . . . all this is just . . . just a dream._

As this realization hit him, Ed felt his body immediately relax, the anger and fear flowing out of him; he slumped heavily against the headboard, ignoring Mustang's questioning stare. All Edward could do was feel relieved that none of this was real.

Though . . . that didn't stop it from being awkward.

Dream-Mustang brought up one of his knees and rested his elbow on it, the white linen of Edward's bed draping casually between his legs. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked for what seemed like the billionth time.

Ed studied the man's face for a few seconds, then nodded his head with an almost apathetic grace, his eyelids drooping slightly. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The pseudo-Roy smiled and chuckled. "I must say, you are acting strange today. Must be the fever you had."

"Must be . . ." Ed answered quietly. In his mind, he agreed, remembering that he had indeed come down with a nasty cold recently in the real world. Though he only vaguely recalled telling Al to leave him alone—who in response stormed out of their quarters in a metallic huff—Ed could hazard a guess that he fell asleep shortly after and thus ended up in this apparently drug-laced dream. The fever was probably the reason he now held the company he did.

Any other 'normal' wet dream and it would have been Winry or Psiren . . . or any other beautiful woman. _Woman_.

Not Mustang. Not that narcissistic bastard that sent him off on countless, crack missions, always looking so smug and self-satisfied whenever he got an explosive reaction out of the shorter alchemist; always holding the blackmail of taboo over his and Al's heads, making sure Ed knew just how long his leash was; Mustang, whose sexual escapades with those of the fairer sex were so legendary they threatened to dwarf the supposed grandeur of his involvement in the Eastern Rebellion.

No, not Mustang.

_Though_, Edward reasoned, _I should count myself lucky that I'm not dreaming about Armstrong._ A disturbing shudder ran through Ed at the thought and Mustang tilted his head quizzically.

"Cold?" he asked.

Edward, who had been gazing off into the vast whiteness, returned his golden orbs to the colonel's face when he heard his voice. "Huh?" he asked.

"I asked if you were cold." The fake Mustang nodded his head in Ed's direction. "You shivered."

"Did I?" Ed asked quietly. "Hm. I didn't notice. Maybe I am cold . . ." He didn't bother explaining to the dream-alchemist that the shudder had actually been sparkle-induced and that the temperature in the white space was actually quite to the Fullmetal's liking. This didn't surprise him really, owing to the fact that it was _his_ dream, but he decided to play along nonetheless.

Mustang smirked and tilted his head back. "I can help you with that."

"Oh?" Ed replied with a grin and a raised eyebrow, deciding to call the colonel's bluff.

In most of the nightmares that he had, though he did not like them, he at least knew how and where they were going to end. However, this . . . well, this was new to him. All he really wanted to do was get this little fantasy over and done with.

And if playing a little mind game with Mustang was the way to do that . . . then he'd begrudgingly agree. It was just a dream after all.

Nevertheless, the lascivious way that the faux-Mustang had said his previous statement sent a warning rattle down Ed's spine, telling him that whatever the colonel was planning to do—virgin though Edward might be, he at least had _some_ idea of what was going through his superior's mind—he was in no way bluffing.

As if merely to prove that thought correct, Mustang scooted closer to the blonde and leaned in to pick up where he had left off on Ed's neck. At the contact, the blonde gasped and jerked away, trying to put some distance between his skin and Roy's lips, but to no avail. Not only was he already pressed as flush against the headboard as he could possibly manage, but the ebony-eyed man just smiled and followed him, unwilling to so easily abandon his ministrations.

"Why are you so tense today?" he purred against Ed's clavicle, sensing the younger man's unease, though oblivious as to the reason.

"Nnh . . ." Edward muttered awkwardly, his face lighting up with the familiar red that he had somehow maintained through the whole dream. He wanted to say more, but that one garbled utterance was all he could manage at that point, his brain unable to form coherent words while Mustang persisted to chew on his neck.

The Flame slowly worked his way around, eventually finding a sensitive, unused muscle near Edward's right shoulder; he gently bit down on the ligament, earning a hiss and an appreciative shudder from the blonde.

Though a part of Ed's mind was yelling at his deceitful body to stop Mustang from molesting him—to shove him off and demand to know exactly why he thought that Ed would want that done to him, then maybe for good measure, pummel him black-and-blue—the majority of his brain had already commenced in shutting down, simply letting these new, numbing, explosive feelings run rampant through his body and then pool audaciously in his groin.

The third part of his prodigal mind, the smallest but most sensible of the three, merely reminded him in a tiny, shrill voice that he really should just go with the flow and enjoy himself. That it was only a dream after all.

_But . . . but it's Mustang! _screeched the abstemious section of his brain. _There's no way that I could possibly—oh, right there, Roy . . . possibly hold any sort of respect or—ah, there . . . anything else for the man . . . Could I?_

Dream-Roy soon grew tired of teasing the flesh of his neck and started working his way up. He paused momentarily at Edward's left ear, taking time to gently nibble on the supple lobe and run his tongue along the tough cartilage, receiving a satisfactory shiver for his efforts. The Flame smirked down at his partner for a moment, then Ed felt warm lips dot quick, soft kisses across his jaw, before descending eagerly upon his mouth.

Roy Mustang kissed him.

Kissed him.

He leaned down, his head slanted slightly to the right, onyx eyes half-opened as if to gauge Ed's reaction, and captured the blonde's mouth with his own. He kissed him . . .

And when Edward's dazed mind—at least the tiny part that was still objecting to this treatment—finally caught up with this fact, it did the only thing it could think of:

It shut down.

It blinked in stupefaction and said, _Aw, fuck it._

It went horribly numb at the onslaught of new emotions and let the larger, passion-filled, hormone-driven part of Edward's mind take the driver's seat. And when Roy's warm tongue lightly grazed his bottom lip, politely asking for entrance, it just nodded its head dumbly in agreement, giving Ed permission to accept it.

Closing his eyes, the young alchemist clumsily followed the more experienced man's lead; Roy just smirked against Edward's mouth, apparently enjoying himself as the blonde enthusiastically ran his own tongue across his teeth and palate, desperately trying to taste every inch of the man's mouth before they were forced to part.

Never once breaking the kiss, Ed pulled himself up onto his knees to get a better angle on the kiss and draped his arms casually over Mustang's shoulders. The raven-haired man chuckled into his mouth and pulled back to look at his young lover, smirking to himself as Ed tried to follow his lips.

"You sure are enthusiastic tonight," he commented, staring up into the golden, lust-filled eyes.

Ed quickly reclaimed his pretty pink colour and reached up to run a hand through his loose hair. "Heh . . . well, y'know . . ."

Roy quirked an eyebrow in amusement, then frowned at him. "You know Ed, I'm not sure if we should do this. After all, you were just sick and I'd hate for you to over-exert yourself like this. It would definitely impede your recovery pro—"

"Less talking, more kissing," Ed growled in annoyance. Then, without waiting for the colonel to take the lead, he leaned down and forcefully returned to making out with the man. Mustang just sighed and grasped the younger alchemist by his hips as he returned the kiss.

At this point, there was no turning back for Ed. He hated feeling this way—_needing_ the man who sat before him like this—but now it didn't seem to matter. He didn't want anything else—didn't need any_one_ else. It didn't matter if this man was the bane of his existence; he wanted to seal those lips to his forever. _Nothing_ could be better than this kiss. At least, that's what Edward thought . . .

Until Roy stuck his hand down his shorts.

At the touch, Ed's contact-starved nerves—already frayed and stretched beyond their normal capacity—finally snapped and his over-taxed brain short-circuited. If it was possible for a human body to spark, Ed's certainly would have done so.

He collapsed heavily against Mustang's chest, turning into a trembling, near-gelatinous mass, and buried his face into the crook of the colonel's neck. He distantly felt the older man's chin shift as he looked down at his blonde bedmate's head, then chuckled.

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?" he asked, tenderly running his hand up and down Ed's length, his calloused fingers tracing veins that Edward didn't know even existed. The blonde giggled stupidly against Mustang's throat as the ministrations turned him into nothing more than a pile of emotional goo.

He slowly slumped farther and farther down Mustang's bare chest, his body (well, _most_ of his body, anyway) going more limp with every stroke; Ed was finally forced to reach up and wrap his arms around his superior's neck, hoisting himself back up. He gave a careful confirmatory nod into the space between Roy's chin and collarbone and spread his legs to give the man better access, no longer ashamed of his own wantonness.

Roy made an amused sound and then stated in a low, almost guttural voice, "I have to stop now."

Ed's response to this statement was an immediate and volatile negative. He shook his head with a fervent passion, his blonde braid whipping about wildly, and clung to Mustang as if his life depended on it. Right now, as far as Edward was concerned, it did. Yet, despite his objections, Roy sighed and, giving the hardening member one final, delicate squeeze, withdrew his hand from Ed's boxer shorts.

To say that the blonde alchemist was disappointed by this would be a vast understatement.

"Mm . . . R-roy, no . . ." he protested, panting pruriently against the man's collarbone. Drawing himself up to Mustang's face, Edward once more captured the man's lips in heated desperation, his fingers weaving themselves through the short black hair. Without fully realizing it, Ed wrapped his tanned legs around the colonel's waist, grinding his pelvis against Roy's toned stomach.

Of course, Mustang obviously wasn't prepared for this shift of weight, for he toppled forward, pinning a wriggling, flustered, though not entirely displeased Edward beneath him. After a brief struggle, the colonel was somehow able to push himself up, breaking the kiss that Ed had initiated; when said alchemist tried to lean forward and reclaim the fleeing lips, Mustang placed a strong hand on his shoulder and pressed him firmly back down onto the bed, bringing any and all of Edward's lecherous notions to a violent halt.

The blonde was distantly aware that Roy's lips were moving, though he was far too interested in actually _watching_ said lips to hear what the ebony-haired man was saying. He loved how they were now pink and kiss-bruised, wet with saliva from both of their mouths, and Ed didn't stop the shudder of pleasure that ran through him at the thought of just _what_ Roy's mouth could do to him besides yell.

"Fullmetal!"

The use of his second name brought Ed back to reality—well, reality as far as fantasy was concerned—in a snap. Remembering suddenly that Roy actually _had_ been talking to him, he blinked a few times, his golden eyes moving up to focus on the black orbs before him. He muttered, "Huh?"

Mustang sighed at his lover's innocent inattention, then let the corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly.

"You need to wake up now, Edward."

* * *

Roy pulled back as the mass of flesh and automail grunted and shifted sleepily beneath him. Ed stretched and yawned and a hand came up to scratch wearily at his blonde scalp, before gold orbs finally opened. 

They shut quickly at the assault of light, opened once more, blinked several times, roamed around blearily for a few seconds, then focused on the colonel's face.

"Roy . . .?"

The colonel's eyes narrowed slightly at the use of his first name, watching as several different emotions flashed through Fullmetal's eyes: confusion, fear, irritation, and . . . an emotion that Roy couldn't name, though one that he'd seen several times before. Just never on Fullmetal.

He pushed the thoughts aside—not important. "Edward," he leered, smirking down at the boy, awaiting his reaction.

Though, the one that he got wasn't exactly the one that he had been expecting.

* * *

Ed first realized that something was wrong when Mustang didn't return the kiss he had given him. After failing to get the man to open up his mouth, the blonde pulled back and stared up into the pale face. The colonel's eyes were wide and his black pupils had contracted in shock. 

Edward blinked, furrowing his blonde brows in confusion, then looked around. The vast space of his dream had been replaced with four stark white walls and the familiar items of his bedroom, along with the unpleasant smell of sickness. _Oh, God . . ._

The blonde alchemist felt his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest as moved to inspect his right arm. He didn't even have to lift it all the way up before he caught the glint of metal tendons and skin in his peripheral vision and the familiar whirl of gears met his ears. _Automail._

_So . . . all this . . . my room is here and Ro—er, I mean Mustang . . . he's acting weird . . . and he's got his clothes on! So, that means everything is . . . I mean, it has to be . . . it's all . . . real?_

_Real . . ._

_Real!_

Ed screamed.

He threw himself up, his forehead crashing painfully against his superior's (an accident, of course), and then he twisted around so that his automail leg found its way between Roy's thighs and gave a giant lurch upwards, kneeing the man where it would count (also an accident). Edward then grabbed Mustang by the collar of his uniform and hurled him off of the bed; unfortunately for Ed, when he felt himself being flung, the colonel had enough sense to grab onto something—that something turned out to be the blonde beneath him, and both State Alchemists soon found themselves sprawled out on the hard floor of Ed's bedroom (okay, that really _was_ an accident).

"What the hell was that, Fullmetal?" Mustang wheezed, already working to disentangle himself from the younger man. Ed took satisfaction in the fact that his voice sounded unnaturally high, obviously from the damage that his automail kneehad inflicted upon the older alchemist's manhood.

The blonde rolled to the side and sat up, yanking the covers away from the colonel and bundling them guiltily in his lap—he still hadn't fully recovered from his dream and Mustang was the _last_ person he wanted seeing him like this. He snarled at the raven-haired man, "You don't get to ask the questions! _I_ get to! Now, what the _fuck_ were you doing in my bed, asshole?"

Roy slowly stood up and brushed himself off, reaching up to rub his brow where Fullmetal had head-butted him. "I was trying to wake you up," he growled, a light blush staining his fair skin, a small tic visible above his left eye.

"By molesting me?" Edward screeched, trying to ignore the way his stomach did giddy somersaults when he saw Mustang blushing. It was crucial that he stay mad at the man—but that was becoming difficult when he looked so undeniably _cute_. "There are easier ways to do it, you prick! What if someone had walked in! Did you even think about that?Both our reputations and your career, not that I care, down the toilet! Not to mention what Al would have done! How could you not _think_ about those things you stupid—"

"Why did you kiss me?"

Ed had been about to yell another random obscenity at Mustang, but at this question he stopped dead. Not because of the actual inquiry—no, Ed had been expecting it. It was just the way that the man asked it: quiet and serene, his face composed in a gentle mask, _much_ too calm for the situation.

Until then, Roy didn't know it was possible for someone to go pale and blush in the same instance, but somehow Fullmetal managed it. Leave it to the kid to do the impossible . . .

"I . . . I just—_argh_, I thought I was dreaming!" Edward spat out before he could really pull together a good lie.

Roy quirked an eyebrow. "So you _kissed_ me?" he asked incredulously.

"Sh-shut up!" Ed grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at Mustang, catching him with a _whap! _in his face. "I was sick!" he shouted truthfully.

The colonel wretched the pillow away from his face and flung it back at the teen. "Well, from now on, Fullmetal . . . don't get sick! That's an order!" he shouted. Turning on his heel, he marched towards the door, ignoring the sputtering sounds that Edward was now making from his spot on the floor. "Oh," he said as he laid his hand on the bedroom doorknob. "And I expect all of your reports to be written, signed, and on my desk by tomorrow afternoon."

And with that, he slammed the door shut.

"Bastard!" Ed bellowed, determined to get the last word in.

Huffing out a sigh, he began to gather up the linen in his lap and stand. It was then that Mustang chose to stick his head back in and state with a knowing smirk, "Oh, by the way, Fullmetal. You have _no_ _idea_ how sexy you sound _panting_ my name in your sleep."

This time, Ed only managed to hit the closing door with the pillow before he collapsed onto his bed in mortification.

* * *

**(giggles hysterically) I know that it wasn't much, but I was still so embarrassed while I was writing that! Okay, I'd say that's it.**

**Nana: Thank Luci . . . I thought you'd never finish!**

**Lina: . . . You're still here?**

**Nana: (nods)**

**Lina: You wanna help me do reader worship then?**

**Nana: (shrugs) Sure, I guess.**

**Moerae: **Ew. That sucks. My dad had that a few months back . . . I feel for you and hope you do better on your next exam. But, yes, FMA fanfics are better than exams.

Nana: Better than sex.

Lina: Like you'd know.

Nana: (huffs) By the way, Lina, how'd _you_ manage _that_ scene, little miss virgin?

Lina: (shrugs) Not sure. Did I do good?

Nana: (nods)

Lina: (back to Moerae) Anyhoo, thank you. I'm glad you approve! Thanks, too, for the cookies! (eats cookie)

Nana: (stares)

Lina: You . . . want one?

Nana: COOKIES! (tackles)

**Qtip: **(laughs) That's what I'm doing now silly!

**In True Meanings: **Us too!

Nana: Hey, she's a big reviewer for 'Hope', isn't she?

Lina: (nods) Mm-hmm. Same as Different Child. Treat them nice.

Nana: (pouts) I'm always nice . . .

**Faded-Justice: **Nana: I like your name!

Lina: Me too. Thanks and I will.

**Prozacfairy: **(laughs) That's okay, hon. As long as you liked it, then I'm doing my job!

**inuyashabooklover5188: **Nana: (laughing) Thata girl! I used to do that, too.

Lina: No, you would _put off_ programming stuff in favour of playing games and reading. _That's_ what you used to do.

Nana: And you didn't?

Lina: (blinks) That's not important . . .

Nana: (rolls eyes) Anyway, don't get caught squealing again, otherwise you won't be able to read anymore of Lina's drabbles.

Lina: Well put. (nods)

**dragon shadows: **Lina: Let's do all three reviews at once. Okay, first of all, no. The symbol for mercury is the Caduceus—a winged staff with two snakes encircling it.

Nana: It's better known as the symbol for medicine.

Lina: (nods) The symbol I'm referring to is the emblem of Nicolas Flamel.

Nana: Sound familiar? He's the guy from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_.

Lina: Most people don't know that he was actually a real alchemist. Anyway, that's his symbol on the back of Ed's red jacket (which is what I was referring to) and on Al's left arm. Not the mercury symbol.

Nana: Next—(looks at Lina) You got Ed to drink milk? How?

Lina: . . . Didn't you read the story?

Nana: (shakes head)

Lina: (sighs; shows Nana story)

Nana: (reads) _Lina!_ That was mean!

Lina: Oh, hush! Third review: That's okay if you don't like it very much. You're a good reviewer, so I'll forgive you! (chuckles)

Nana: (still looking at story) I still can't believe you cut Ed off . . .

Lina: Oh, get over it.

**mizukimarr910: **Lina: (looks at Nana) Sounds like you two would get along great.

Nana: (shrugs) I just like to eat food, thank you very much.

Lina: (looks at readers) Meaning she can't cook.

Nana: Hey!

Lina: (ignores Nana) A fruit chapter? (points up) Tada! You like? There was no food involved though . . . sorry. Neither Nana nor I have any experience to draw on, so this is probably as close to pure, unadulterated smut as either of us can get . . . though, if you want something better, I can certainly try.

Nana: (mutters) And fail miserably . . .

**Anime Freak Girl: **Thank you so much!

**Pyro Falcon: **Thanks! If you're stunned speechless by the brilliance of my drabbles, then I thank you immensely for the compliment.

Nana: You don't know if she meant _that_!

Lina: (shrugs) I'll take it with a lump of sugar.

Nana: That's 'grain of salt', you noob. A lump of sugar is what you put in your coffee.

Lina: Shut up! (huffs; turns attention back to Pyro) Oh, and if you wanna snake, you should get a snake. Just keep them in separate cages! (laughs)

Nana: That big snake of yours was scary!

Lina: Taltos?

Nana: Yeah. (looks at readers) She was a big-ass python.

Lina: I believe the scientific name is 'African Rock' python.

Nana: Whatever. She could eat lambs!

Lina: (shrugs) I only had to feed her twice a year . . .

**Trespasser1307: **Thank you! I shall!

**Different Child: **Lina: What day is it? (looks at calendar) Oh, Nov. 19. Happy belated birthday!

Nana: _Felices cumpleaños atrasado!_

Lina: (rolls eyes) Nana's half-Hispanic.

Nana: _Cállese, ramera!_

Lina: (blinks) Huh?

Nana: (grins) Nothing . . .

Lina: Anyhoo . . . (looks at D.C.) Thanks for the three reviews! And don't sweat it. You'll eventually find something that you're comfortable with . . . don't rush into a religion cause you feel that you have to. I mean, I'm heretic Catholic and Nana is non-denominational.

Nana: (huffs) Well, I _was_ until I found out that they had a church. I mean, how can you be a Christian who doesn't believe in organized religion and have a church?

Lina: Now she's just agnostic.

Nana: I prefer to think of it as 'having equal respect for God and the devil'.

Lina: Nah. Agnostic fits you better. After all, it does mean 'without knowledge'.

Nana: Shut up!

Lina: (laughs) Anyhoo, we both hope you had a good birthday!

**Faith Lee: **Lina: (laughs) Thanks! (rolls around on ground laughing)

Nana: Don't mind her. She's just kinda freaked out cause she's never had a perfect stranger come up and tell her they love her before.

Lina: Actually, there was that one time in London . . .

Nana: (blinks) Huh? You never told me that! Who? Who was he? Did he hurt you? I'll kill him!

Lina: Calm down! (hands Nana towel cause she's foaming at the mouth; looks at readers) She's such a protective friend.

Nana: I'm like Hawkeye, except without the blonde hair and guns . . .

**Lina: (laughs) The longest part of this story was the reader worship.**

**Nana: Only cause you have me here. They'll be shorter next time . . . that is, if you get any reviews.**

**Lina: Screw you, whore.**

**Nana: (sighs) Review please, for my friend's sanity. Tell her how she did on her first smut!**


	10. Gift

**_DON'T READ THIS!_: Hi guys! Lina here to tell you that this is _NOT_ the next chapter of 'Family'. Don't worry! I will be continuing it—it's just that I got quite a few reviews saying that I should have made it into its own little story, so . . . I did! The first chapter ('Arrival') will be posted shortly after this under another fic called—you guessed it!—'Family'.**

**If you've already read the first 6 chapters, I beg you to go and review them again for me, please! I'll be posting each chapter every other day. So, you all can look forward to the 7th chapter ('Red-handed') in roughly thirteen days.**

**Hope that all made sense. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to put up with my crap—now, on to this new drabble!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned them, I would be the happiest girl in the world! Sadly, I think that Paris Hilton is the happiest girl in the world . . . and Paris Hilton I am not.

* * *

**

**Gift**

Roy glanced down at the small gift box that had just been thrust into his hands by a rather flustered-looking Elric. The blonde teen had basically thrown the parcel at him, muttered 'Merry Christmas, you bastard,' and then stormed away.

The loud slamming of the mess hall doors signaled that the Fullmetal had just left the Christmas party.

Roy quirked an amused eyebrow, then turned his attention back to his gift. It was a small, blue velvet box—the kind usually associated with the presentation of a ring, necklace, or a set of earrings—bound up with a white, silken ribbon. Frowning slightly, Roy suddenly wondered if the simple chain he had given his subordinate as a gift (to replace the watch chain that had broken and been lost on one of Edward's missions) might be considered as cheap in comparison to whatever lay within the little box in his lap.

Shaking his head, the colonel pulled off the ribbon and then pushed open the domed lid of his gift box. He was mildly surprised to find, not a piece of expensive jewelry contained within, but a simple piece of white paper, folded over twice and tucked into the slit where a ring would sit.

He cocked his head to one side in uncertainty, then plucked the paper from its stand and unfolded it, wondering what Fullmetal had planned this time.

* * *

Jean Havoc, slightly tipsy on the holiday eggnog, leaned over his bespectacled coworker in a drunkenly seductive manor. "Hey, gorgeous," he slurred. "How bout a kiss?" Cain Fuery turned a very pretty colour of pink and tried to lean away from the taller man, but was stopped by a wall.

_When had that gotten there?_

"Jean, you're drunk," he explained gently, handing up his hands in a manor clearly intended to fend the blonde off.

"No—_you're _drunk," Havoc chuckled.

Fuery, very much sober, sighed and was trying to think of some way to get himself out of this mess—not that he could say he would entirely _mind_ if Havoc were to kiss him—when there was suddenly a loud racket from across the mess hall. Both men, along with everyone else in the canteen, paused in what they were doing to stare as Colonel Roy Mustang nearly knocked over two _very_ drunk and _very _. . . 'willing' women in his effort to exit the room, a distraught, but determined expression on his face.

Sergeant Cain Fuery furrowed his black brows in confusion as the mess hall doors swung shut and everyone went back to what they had been doing before the Flame's interruption. Including Havoc . . .

He turned back to Cain and grinned alluringly. "So, where were—huh?"

Fuery was gone. Looking around in bewilderment, Havoc quickly spotted the object of his affection making his way over to the other side of the mess hall.

Fuery pushed his way through the throngs of partygoers, politely elbowing one particularly drunken officer in his side, until he found where the colonel had just been sitting. His chair had been overturned and there was a small box and a white ribbon on the floor.

Fuery put his hands on his hips and pursed his lips, wondering what had spooked the Flame Alchemist. "Hm . . . what's this?" he said aloud, suddenly spotting a small piece of paper on the floor near the fallen chair. The short man leaned over and picked it up just as Havoc came stumbling out of the crowd, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Jeez . . . you have to be Moses to get through these crowds," the inebriated man stated, rubbing the back of his blonde head. "Hey, what's that?" he asked, seeing that Cain was reading something instead of paying attention to him.

His reading having been interrupted, the dark-haired man looked over his shoulder at Havoc, a knowing smile playing on his lips, and handed him the note. Frowning slightly, the second lieutenant held the small piece of paper near his nose and slowly deciphered the blurring words:

_I love you._

_-Ed_

Havoc blinked for a second. Then laughed joyously and captured a squeaking Fuery in a tight hug. "Aw! I _love_ you, too! Whats say we go back to my place and I have my wild way with you?"

Fuery blushed furiously, then said in a loud voice, "That note was from Ed, Havoc."

"Ed?" the blonde man asked, pulling away from his current obsession, but still grasping his shoulders possessively. "Ed's in love with you?"

If possible, Fuery blushed even harder, and stammered, "N-no! That . . . that note was from _Ed_ to _Colonel Mustang_!"

"Mustang? The boss loves the colonel?"

In response to this question, Fuery nodded and said, "I guess so."

Havoc looked at the shorter man seriously for a while—so long, in fact, that Fuery actually became unnerved and began to fidget beneath the gaze—then grinned like an idiot and wrapped the sergeant up in his arms again. "That's okay! I still love you!"

Unsure of what else he could do, Fuery merely rolled his eyes, sighed, and said in a low voice, "Merry Christmas to you, too, Havoc."

_And good luck, Edward.

* * *

_

**That's it. Tell me how you like. It's kinda hard getting back in the swing of things after writing a real story for so long.**

**Again, to the readers of 'Family', sorry for the runaround. You'll get your new chapter soon!**

**Please review!**


	11. Mistletoe

**Heh . . . I actually painted a picture like this for my friend. Now, I've decided to write a drabble for it. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: Don't sue me, for no money do I have.

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**

**Mistletoe**

It could be said around Central that one Colonel Roy Mustang did not like Christmas . . . but that would be grossly under-exaggerating it.

Roy detested the holiday with every fiber of his being. The cheesy, plastic, generic gifts that one only received at that time of year; the idiotic tradition of stringing lights up all over your house—which would need to be taken down only a few weeks later; the obtaining, setting up, and decoration of a smelly pine tree that, for the life of him, Roy couldn't figure out _what_ had to do with Christmas; the eggnog, which he hated simply because it was so delicious and it only came around one time a year; and worst of all . . . mistletoe.

Roy Mustang _loathed_ mistletoe.

What was it but some excuse thought up by lonely (probably women) singles in a desperate attempt to get as many second-rate, sloppy kisses from total—or not-so-total—strangers as they could manage? He might not have minded so much if all of the secretaries all over HQ weren't so keen on hanging it up in obscure places, waiting for a certain unsuspecting dark-eyed colonel to come strolling by and . . .

Well, you know the rest.

Many believed that Roy, being the skirt-chasing womanizer that he was, would have loved the tradition; however, he just saw it as an excellent way to more quickly get a cold. The colonel preferred to _choose_ who he kissed, thank you very much.

No—Roy was not a fan of mistletoe, at all.

Said colonel was now busy scribbling his signature on yet another line on yet another paper of yet another meaningless report. Coincidentally, he hated paperwork as well—more so than he did mistletoe, simply because he had paperwork all year around, whereas the kissing garnish only showed up one month out of the twelve.

Loud footfalls sounded their approach down the hall outside his office, accompanied by the muffled, inquisitive voices of his subordinates. Whoever had just arrived—as if Roy had any doubt to who it was—either fended off or simply ignored the questions, then entered his office without knocking and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Hey bastard colonel."

Roy smirked, not looking up from his decidedly boring work as he greeted, "Hello, Fullmetal." He listened to the uneven footsteps of flesh and automail as Ed approached his desk and came to a stop before it.

Mustang signed his name once again and pushed aside the report, picking up another one as he waited for the Elric to give a reason as to why he had barged into his office unannounced and uninvited.

And waited . . .

And waited . . .

Finally growing aggravated, what with Edward hovering over him, giving to explanation as to why, Roy put down his pen and looked up at the teen, stoic expression in place. "Fullmetal, may I ask what—"

Roy stopped. Not really because Ed had just pressed his lips up against his, effectively cutting off all verbal communication between the two of them; not really because the blonde had just slipped his tongue into Roy's mouth, causing his brain short-circuit; not really because he was too busy counting every flaxen eyelash and every invisible freckle and taking in the salty, musky, metallic scent of his subordinate.

Not _really_ . . . but kind of.

He stopped speaking more because of what Ed was wearing—particularly, the contraption that was wrapped around his head:

It was some headband of sorts, with what appeared to be a tiny fishing rod transmuted to the front of it; dangling from said rod, about two inches away from Edward's face, was a sprig of . . . you guessed it . . .

Mistletoe.

Ed pulled away, a surprisingly smug look on his slightly flushed face, said, "Merry Christmas, bastard," and then turned and exited the office. Roy stared at the closed door for several minutes after the blonde had left, unsure of the warm feeling that was settling comfortably in his chest, and then felt himself grin.

Maybe mistletoe wasn't _so_ bad.

* * *

**Didn't turn out exactly like I had planned, seeing as how in the painting, it was _Roy_ wearing the mistletoe cap, not Ed . . . but I still think it's okay.**

**Please review!**

**Marii: **Thank you!

**sexy pancake:** (smiles) I really like HavocFuery, but I prefer to write EdRoy, so I don't do to much of them. (laughs) Well, thank you for telling me after the fact and yes, I still have all my reviews. That was the one thing that I was worried about.

Thanks for the review!

**dragon shadows:** Thanks a lot! Glad you went through all the trouble of doing an anonymous review just to tell me how much you love me! (laughs)

I'm sorry that I took it off before you could read chapter 15 . . . you'll get to read it later on, though! Thanks for the review!

**Faith Lee:** I love them, too! And 'Family' has been moved to its own story. Hope you find it.

Love you too . . . Thanks for the review!

**kharris:** (laughs) Thank you!

**Neo Diji:** (laughs) Of course I forgive you! You're one of my favourite authors! I feel honoured having you review my little ficlets! (laughs) You're probably right about our sanity combination . . .

I know of your affinity for leaving long, rambling reviews, for I have seen them on other people's stories. I can honestly tell you that I don't mind at _all_! Thanks for the review—can't wait for the next one.


	12. Fireworks

**Hey y'all! This is a short little New Year's fic. Hope y'all like it!**

**It contains _SPOILERS_ for the end of the series, so if you don't know what happens and want to save yourself, then don't read.**

**Disclaimer: (cries)

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**

**Fireworks**

Brilliant blossoms of red, green, and yellow light exploded in the skies above Central, drawing the eyes of everyone in viewing range and signaling that another year was about to come to a close. Roy Mustang leaned back heavily against the smooth stone marker, watching as another set of rockets shrieked upwards and ignited, lighting up the night sky with a deafening _crack_.

Fireworks.

What were they, really, other than fuel, an oxidizer, various compounds such as barium or copper to get a certain colour, mixed with salts and a variety of other metals for incandescence? Broken down by chemistry, they really didn't seem all that amazing . . .

Hell, he could do that. He was the Flame Alchemist, after all.

Except . . .

Roy sighed and moved his ungloved fingers up to trace the outline of the patch that now covered where his left eye had once been.

Except he hadn't once used alchemy since the day he killed Bradley. He didn't feel as though he had the right to, for some strange reason. There was no desire to do so; no . . . _spark_, if you will.

The Flame had gone out.

"You know what, Fullmetal?" Roy asked as another explosion silhouetted the rooftops of Central. "I never thought that _this_ is where I would be on New Year's Eve . . . Not only that I'm spending it with you, but just . . . everything." The dark-haired man paused to shift around and find a more comfortable place on the neatly trimmed cemetery grass, noting with dull consternation that the fireworks were beginning to lessen in both their amount and brilliance, signaling that the night was swiftly drawing to a close.

Roy knew that he had to be on a train back to Northern Headquarters by morning. At this thought he let a sad smile creep onto his face and muttered, "God, you'd probably laugh if you saw me now. A private doing border patrol . . ." A mirthless chuckle. "Sad, huh, Edward?"

Yes . . . it was sad. Pitiful, actually. Roy Mustang, ex-colonel, ex-Flame Alchemist, had indeed fallen a hell of a long way: he'd lost his position, lost his subordinates, lost his dream and his eye all in one fell swoop . . . And now, as he felt the hot tears streaming down his right cheek, Roy realized that he had also lost one of the most important people in his life.

Edward Elric.

Edward, who was boisterous and loud and kind and infuriating and pitiable and somehow managed to be all those things in one instant; Edward, who would look at you with those _eyes_ and you could just feel yourself melt . . . or burn, depending on which mood he was in; Edward, who was so strong and grown-up, yet still managed to ensnare hearts with his endearing, childish ways; Edward, who would rant and scream six ways to Sunday about how he was _not_ so short that one might miss him in a crowd of ants.

Edward, who would have preferred to be buried next to his mother and not on a military plot; Edward, who wouldn't have chosen the stone marker or epitaph that he had gotten; Edward . . . who was _not_ buried six feet below the ground on which Roy sat.

He knew that. He knew that the grave was empty. If his own faith in Ed's stubborn ability to stay alive wasn't enough, then there was Alphonse's.

Al—who didn't remember anything from the four years that he and Ed had spent searching for the Philosopher's stone . . . and who now looked so much like Ed that it almost hurt Roy to look at him. That boy believed that his older brother was still alive somewhere . . .

And that was conviction enough for Roy.

Wiping away an errant tear with the cuff of his jacket, the ex-colonel pushed himself up with a groan and stared down at the grave; the few fireworks still blossoming behind him silhouetted his form, throwing his shadow against the headstone at impossible angles. "Well, Ed . . ." Roy sighed out, picking an invisible thread off of his uniform. There were so many things that could and could not be said, things he wanted to tell the boy . . . but, now—whether or not the blonde was alive out there—it was already too late. The fates had given him ample time to tell the Fullmetal how he felt and he had spit in their faces.

Confessing to an empty grave wouldn't help him now . . .

"Happy New Year."

And that was it.

One year of Edward's absence . . . one year of seclusion in the Briggs . . . and that was all he could come to tell the blonde before turning and making his way out of the cemetery, stopping only once to briefly speak to Hughes . . .

The fireworks died in the sky.

_There's always next year . . .

* * *

_

**For those of you who have seen the end of the series and possibly the movie, then you know that the last little comment alludes to. Hope you liked. Please review!**

**Responses:**

**BlackFire-Dog:** (dances) Yes, I am! Thanks for the review!

**Sakura-Chan:** Thank you! Glad you liked!

**dragon shadows:** (laughs) No, looks like 'Family' will only be about ten chapters long . . . maybe eleven. But not fifteen. Sorry.

Glad you liked this one! Thanks for the review!

**Trespasser1307:** (laughs) Some other people want to see it, too. Though the painting is too big for me to scan, I bet I can redraw it and post it in BMF's bio. Would that do? Yes, silly, it makes sense . . . and don't worry, I forgive you.

Thanks for the review!

**Neo Diji:** Hello Kara. (laughs) I only read your fic after I wrote mine . . . didn't I? (scratches head) Not sure; it's too far back to remember. (shrugs) But, no—I wasn't making fun of your fic. Though, our Roy's are very different . . .

The painting is actually to big to scan onto my compy, even though my printer/copier/scanner is as big as a horse . . . well, maybe not—but it's _big_! Anyhoo, I was thinking that I could redraw it and post it in the BMF bio. How does that sound?

I'll probably take you up on that random idea. I like kitties . . . and I love RoyEd . . . and Al love's kitties _and_ Ed. It all makes sense . . . at least, to me it does. Yes, I shall write a cat fic!

Now that Christmas is done and gone, I don't think that you can do anymore mistletoe fics . . . though, you're willing to try! How bout a New Year's fic? (points up)

(laughs) Nice talking to you! Bye!

**Storm Dragon Goddess:** Hooray! Thanks!

**imyourvillian:** Thanks! I love HavocFuery and wanted to write some . . . but I didn't want to start a whole other fic just for that . . . so I figured that this would do!

(laughs) So, Roy and your dad are one in the same? That's interesting . . .

You're the third person to ask. I can't scan the painting because a) it's too big and b) my friend now has it. However, I am attempting to draw it out on paper so that it can be scanned and then I'll try to put it in the BMF bio. Sound good?

Thanks for the review! Bye!

**Foolish Mortal:** (laughs) Good luck with that! Hope it worked out!

**Raven Cactuar:** Give it a shot. I'm sure you're a much better writer than you give yourself credit for. Good luck and thanks for the review!

**Faith Lee:** Me neither! (high five) And I concur! They are both highly amusing here if I do say so myself. Thanks!


	13. Bronco

**I'm taking a break from my Mpreg to bring y'all this. Hope you like.**

**Disclaimer: Yes, I own it. I've always owned it. In fact, I own everything. Happy now?

* * *

**

**Bronco**

Ed ran one steel index finger down the seemingly endless list of B-words that the dictionary had to offer, scowling slightly as he did so. It wasn't very often that the teen had to call upon the aid of a lexicon . . . and it aggravated the blonde to no end that it wasn't an _alchemic_ text that had brought about his sudden need of one.

It had been a novel that Roy had bought for him. A _novel_.

Edward huffed silently and threw a crippling glare at his lover. The dark-haired man was seated across from him, apparently consumed in his own book, oblivious to the fact that the younger alchemist was trying to castrate him with his eyes. Sighing, Ed turned his eyes back to the dictionary in his lap.

Bronchus.

That was the word that he was looking for. A doctor had mentioned it in the novel and, though he and Alphonse had studied the chemical makeup of the human body extensively, he hadn't a clue as to what it was.

_Bronchus. Bronchus. Broken-down . . . bromic . . . bronchiole . . . Ah, there it is. Bronchus: any of the major air passages of the lungs. Hm . . . _

Ed frowned. He, of all people, should have known that.

_Maybe I'm just tired_, he thought to himself, wistfully. The blonde sighed yet again and went to shut the dictionary . . . but his eye caught something and he stopped. There, right below the word he was looking for, was the word _bronco_.

It was an interesting word, but that in and of itself was _not_ what had caught the alchemist's attention. It was the definition.

_Bronco: a wild or semi-wild horse or pony; an unbroken or imperfectly broken mustang._

Edward blinked a few times and let his golden eyes wander over to Roy, yet again. The man was still sitting there, staring at the same page . . . his eyes dark and distant. He wasn't reading. His mind was someplace else entirely.

Putting both books down, Ed stood and stretched in a casual manner, before yawning and padding over to the couch where Roy sat. Catching movement in his peripheral vision, the Flame blinked out of his trance and looked up just as Ed flopped down on top of him.

"Mm . . . tired," Edward mumbled faux-sleepily against the man's chest. He was lying, of course—he just didn't want Roy to have that _look_ on his face . . . and he'd do anything to make is disappear.

The older alchemist chuckled a bit and then went back to reading his tome over Edward's head. The blonde regarded his lover's chin for a moment, before closing his amber eyes and frowning into Roy's shirtfront. Maybe no one else noticed it, but down in the depths of his haunted eyes, Ed saw it.

He saw how the Amestris military had effectively _broken_ this Mustang.

* * *

**Eh. Not my best, I'll admit . . . but, I wanted to write it for some time now. Please review or I won't think that you love me. (smiles)**

**Responses:**

**Edo-kun's Angel:** Thank you! I will!

**Storm Dragon Goddess:** Thanks!

**Foolish Mortal:** (laughs) Guess so. Thanks for the review!

**killmeshining:** I'm sorry that I made you cry. (blink, blink) . . . (gasps) POCKY! (tackles you)

**Midori-Jester:** (laughs) I know! It sucks, doesn't it?

**Corrupted-Phoenix:** Hey, you're one of my favourite authors! How do you do! Anyhoo, thank you!

**Worsel:** Wibbles? (shrugs) Thanks for the review!

**Raven Cactuar:** No problem! I would love to see the movie, too. A friend of my dad's can get bootlegged movies for cheap, so I asked him if he would get CoS for me. He said he'd try! Woot! Anyhoo, thanks for the review!

**Neo Diji:** Hey Kara! Yes, I can see that you can still write Christmas fics . . . and did. (laughs) Like I've said in some reviews, I _can_ do fanart . . . I just don't know how to go about getting it online and stuff. (blinks) Could you tell me?

(laughs) Al probably would be in heaven . . . and Ed in hell. (laughs)

I was surprised, actually. A lot of people said that it made them cry. Maybe I'm just sadistic, but that made me kinda happy. (grins) Anyhoo, I finished 'Family', so you can't set CinCin on my for stalling . . . Though, now you have 'Levitas Fragosus' to wait on.

(backs away from killer CinCin) I'll probably have the first chapter posted by Tuesday. Don't hold me to it, because I'm not sure. But maybe.

Anyhoo, thanks for the review! Bye!

**Daga:** Thanks! I can't wait to see the movie either. There's supposed to be some major (hidden) RoyEd interaction . . . So, I'm wiggling in my seat with anticipation! Anyhoo, thanks for the review!

**imyourvillian:** (laughs) It's because you've technically already reviewed for this chapter (back when it was 'Family').

No, haven't seen the movie yet, though, my dad does have a friend who can get good-quality, bootlegged movies for cheap. I asked him to get CoS and he said he's try! Anyhoo, thanks for the review!

**Trespasser1307:** That's because you reviewed the chapter back when it was 'Family'. That's all. (laughs)

Thanks for the vote of confidence! And for the review!

**HUGE ROY ED SHIPPER: **(laughs) Thanks! Your favourite author, huh? Well, when you say that, how can I refuse? I'll try for another nightmare drabble, kay? Thanks for the review!

**Sirius' PuppyPadfoot:** Thanks for the three reviews, hon!

**ed'sgirl89:** I think I already sent you a response, but oh well. Thanks for the two reviews!


	14. No Socks

**This is, most likely, going to be the absolute shortest thing that I've ever written. There's a chance that the author's notes will be longer . . . Eh. (shrugs)**

**Disclaimer: I just don't own it, okay? Quit asking me!

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**

**No Socks**

Roy wondered vaguely what Edward was doing as he entered the living room, seeing the blonde circling the couch like a vulture. No. Not just circling.

_Shuffling._

The Fullmetal was carving a circular path around the centre of the room, shuffling his socked feet through the plush, white carpet. Catching the movement of the colonel's entrance in his peripheral vision, Ed looked up from what he was doing . . . and smiled at him.

Roy quirked an eyebrow. Why was he smiling? They had gotten into a rather childish row not long before over how the blonde should wear socks so that his automail wouldn't damage the hardwood floors. Though the colonel was pleased to see that Edward had listened and had donned some footwear, he was also slightly unnerved. The blonde wasn't one who got pissed off and then forgave very easily.

Ed, of all things, should _not_ have been _smiling_ at him . . .

However, as the teen turned and came shuffling over towards him, smile slowly transforming into a devious grin, Roy could see how the static electricity that was building up in Ed's body was making his flaxen hair stand up.

And, as Edward reached him and stretched out his automail hand to touch his bare arm, Roy mentally slapped himself for _ever_ telling Ed to wear socks.

* * *

**See? Short and pointless—I loved it! (laughs) Here are review responses:**

**death lies2:** I'm sorry that you've been in a bad mood and I'm glad that my little ficcy helped! Thanks for the review!

**Edo-kun's Angel:** Thanks! (laughs) Sure. (dumps whole mess of RoyEd fics into bowl) Enjoy!

**Thine-When-Slain:** I knew it was you, silly. (laughs) Thanks for the review!

**Onyxlight:** (preens) Thank you for the compliments and for both reviews!

**killmehshining:** (laughs) I'll tell Nana that you said hi. Glad you liked them all—I especially enjoyed writing 'Don't Get Sick' . . . so I'm happy that it's your favourite! (smiles)

I don't know if I already wrote you something regarding Immortal Rain and Gravitation . . . Just tell me in a review, if I didn't and I'll message it to you, kay?

Oh . . . a lifetime supply of pocky? I think I'll have to take you up on that offer. Okay, sure. Anything special that you want, by request? Just let me know. Thanks for the review!

**SPP: **Hey Heather! Glad you liked it!

**xX Konoha Ninja Xx:** (laughs) Yes, that's really the definition of bronco (at least on thefreedictionary(dot)com). I was looking up the term 'bronching', because I hadn't heard it anywhere but in the song _American Pie_ and I wanted to know if it was a real word—that lead me to 'bronco' and when I saw the definition for it, the light bulb just went off in my head and I had to write it.

Tada! Thanks for the review!

**Lurkinshdws:** Thank you!

**J-chan Hagane no Chibisan:** Thanks!

**Neo Diji:** (pats at air) You be just as blunt and emotional and weird as you want. You know I don't mind at all.

I've just posted the third chapter of _my _Mpreg . . . but you probably knew that. (grins) I read yours and reviewed and loved and want you to hurry along with the next chapter . . . But I'm rambling.

I saw my art in your profile. Hope you liked it! And no, you didn't spell DeviantArt wrong. (chuckles) Thanks for the review. I'd make the response longer, but I'm tired . . .

**Lunatic with a Hero Complex: **(laughs) True, true. Thanks for the review!

**ed'sgirl89:** Glad you liked! Thanks for the review!

**FullmetalXFlame Fangirl: **Thank you so much!

**imyourvillian:** Hey! Welcome back! God, that sucks . . . I would have stolen my roommate's computer while she was at work if that had happened.

I'm so happy that you liked it and (laughs) I'm glad that I could help you learn a new word. Thanks for the review!

**DDA:** Thanks!

**Anicia Novatierrie** I really like your name—where's it from? Glad you liked them and thanks for the two reviews!

**BlackFire-Dog:** (laughs) I wrote you a message explaining everything that's been going on. I see no point in doing it again. (smiles)


	15. Heaven

**Written in response to NeoDiji's challenge. I don't care if it sucks, I finally finished it! Thank you, Jesus! I am also too lazy at this point to come up with a title more creative than what it is. Ta! (runs off to work on the next chapter of LF).

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**

**Heaven**

_There was a white light._

_Bright and pulsating to a silent, unknown rhythm from the end of a long tunnel; the walls of this parturient tube swirled and writhed within themselves, resembling silvery mist and oil in water . . . But somehow, just when it seemed as though they might crash in on themselves and drown out that gorgeous light, the walls would shift again and retain their tubular form. It all reminded her eerily of being born . . . and she found this highly unusual, since birth was one experience of her life that she couldn't recall with particular ease._

_The light at the end of this swirling vortex smoothed over her skin with warm hands and called to her in a crooning voice . . ._

There's room for you now. You can come.

_And she wanted desperately to listen to that voice and join that wonderful light at the end of that impossible tunnel. She let a tranquil smile possess her features, reaching out with both hands towards the corona and feeling the weight of the Light against her palms . . ._

But . . .

_She frowned. And the Light shifted . . . almost questioningly . . ._

There's something that I must finish. Before I can stay with you . . . I have to see something through . . . though I don't know what it is . . .

_She reluctantly pulled back her hands and clutched them together, pressing them against her chest and lowering her chin to meet them. _I have something I must finish . . .

_And so, she turned her back . . . and the Light understood and withdrew its own outstretched hand, leaving her be for now. She would let it know when she was ready, but for now . . ._

_For now . . ._

_Trisha Elric turned her back on heaven.

* * *

_

"Hey Mom," said the tentative voice, barely above a whisper. Trisha Elric, who had been staring at the ladybug slowly traveling over the back of her own headstone, thinking back to the day she had met the Light, was snapped out of her spectral reverie by the new voice.

_Can . . . c-can it really be true . . . ?_ she asked aloud, knowing that the visitor wouldn't be able to hear her.

He was much bigger than she remembered him being on his last visit and had new, strange clothes to fit his amazingly taller form—the grey trousers, white button-down, and tawny vest certainly looked good on him. Instead of the braid that she had become accustomed to, his soft, blonde hair was pulled back into a dignified ponytail at the crown of his head. His features had taken on harder edges and had gotten more defined over his absence . . . and, though his usually tanned skin had lost some of its bronze tone, he was by no means pale or sickly looking. He looked different, yes . . . but she recognized him in an instant . . .

Her son.

_Edward . . .

* * *

_

The alchemist stared down at the grave with obvious trepidation, unsure of how he should approach the subject that had been on his mind as of late. A lot of things had happened to him and Al over the past . . . how many years was it again? Five . . . six? He couldn't be certain anymore. Time on the other side of the Gate flowed differently than in Amestris . . . Either way, a lot of time had passed between his last visit to this cemetery and now.

A lot of things had happened . . . both good and bad . . . and his mother deserved to hear them.

* * *

"I'm sorry . . . that I haven't been by to visit you lately," the young man that was her eldest son stated quietly. "I've been . . . really busy." Trisha Elric smiled softly as the blonde before her shifted back and forth uncomfortably, and poked at the ground with one of his black oxfords.

_I can always tell when you're nervous about something, Ed. All the fancy clothes and growth spurts in the world can't change that . . ._

"Al and I both. We wished that we could have come to see you . . . more often, but . . . that just wasn't possible where we were."

_Alphonse? My Alphonse? So, he's all right? _The ghostly woman clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest. Her youngest son had only just been returned to normal—out of that horrible suit of armour and back into the youthful, vibrant being he had once been—when he had disappeared from her life once again . . . She wasn't sure what had happened to her boys . . . and seeing how news was not passed along easily to the dead, she was forced to wait and worry.

But they were back now. They were back and Edward looked wonderful and healthy . . . and it seemed as though Alphonse had turned out equally all right. They were both okay.

Trisha released the breath that she had been holding for the past five years.

"I want to tell you where we were . . ." Edward admitted in his hushed tones, his head lowered, watching the actions of his own feet without much interest. His flaxen fringe was obscuring his eyes from view, but the woman could hear the hurt in his voice. "You're our mother and you deserve to know where your only sons disappeared to; we owe you at least _that_ much. But it's . . . complicated. Where we were . . . it was a whole other world. It was . . . painful and lonely and I missed it here _so_ much."

Edward looked up—almost as if he was looking right at her—and Trisha could see how his gorgeous golden eyes had darkened to a murky amber . . . "I don't want to burden you with that place, Mom. So . . . just let me keep that for now . . ."

_Oh, Edward_, Trisha murmured softly, pressing a hand to her own ethereal cheek. She was unsure of what she could say to ease his obvious pain . . . but then remembering that she couldn't be heard anyway . . .

The blonde man slowly turned his head away, looking off in the direction of the Rockbell home. "Alphonse is gonna come by later to talk to you," he said simply. "He's got some good news . . . about him and Winry."

Trisha's ears perked up a bit at this. _Hm? Alphonse and Winry? _Edward's face was now turned away from her, but the woman could still see the small smile playing on her son's lips.

"Yeah," the alchemist continued. "He said that I should keep quiet about it, cause he wanted to tell you himself . . . but since you're gonna find out anyway, I might as well. He and Winry finally got together. They're gonna be tying the knot soon . . ."

_You mean they're getting married!_ she asked excitedly, the glee she felt apparent in her silent voice—the urge to simply jump up and down on the spot with elation was almost overwhelming. Her baby was getting married! Honestly, if she wasn't already dead, Trisha was sure that she would have died of happiness right then and there.

Edward turned back to her grave with a sigh, oblivious to his mother's spectral merriment just yards away; letting a grin that didn't reach his eyes cut across his face, he said to the headstone, "He'll be coming by later to talk to you about it, so don't mention anything, okay?"

Trisha stilled herself and nodded with a wide smile, even if Edward couldn't see her doing it. _I won't. Don't worry, dear._

Rolling his shoulders back and shoving his hands down into the pockets of his trousers, Ed lifted his head back to look up at the clear sky. "He wanted to tell you himself . . . But, I also have some news. And I wanted to tell you on _my_ own, as well."

_Oh?_ Trisha tilted her head to one side questioningly.

The blonde was silent for a long while, staring up at the cloudless Resembool sky, before he finally said with quiet simplicity, "I met someone."

The woman blinked. _Met someone?_

"I'd known them for a long time before Al and I went away," Edward continued on, unaware of Trisha's confusion. "It was only after I'd had that time away from them that I realized . . . I cared about them. A lot, actually. So . . ." Edward relinquished a wispy sigh and lowered his face once again, now speaking to the grave. ". . . after me and Al got back this time—after all that we saw in that place—I figured out that I couldn't let a chance at a . . . relationship slip away, just because I was afraid of rejection."

Realization sparked within the depths of Trisha's mind. _Oh, you _met_ someone! You're dating them! How wonderful! Both of my boys settling down—what more could a mother ask for?_

Ed shrugged lazily, once again looking over towards the Rockbell home. "Yeah . . . turns out he felt the same way . . . So, we're giving it a shot. It might work, it might not work, but hey . . . no chance at all if we don't try, right?"

Trisha watched the small smile appear on her son's face and felt herself smile, as well. He looked happy. More so than he had in all the past times he had come to visit her. Whoever this person was that he was seeing must be good for him. _I wonder who it is,_ she thought suddenly. She had always imagined that it would be Edward and Winry settling down together; even as children, the young girl had been drawn to Trisha's eldest child. However, now that she knew that the blonde girl and her Alphonse were together, she was very curious as to whom Edward was currently seeing.

"I want you to meet him," the alchemist said suddenly, unknowingly offering up an answer to Trisha's unasked question. "I'll go get him."

As her eldest son turned and walked away, Trisha pressed an ethereal palm to her face in contentment. _How sweet. He wants me to meet his girlfriend! Edward is just so thoughtful . . . I wonder what she'll be li—_

Trisha Elric's own brain nearly gave her whiplash in its violent halt; flailing wildly, it scrambled backwards through the snippets of Edward's speech, only stopping when it had firmly grasped onto one word.

_Him._

"_I want you to meet _him_."_

"_I'll go get _him_."_

Her son's girlfriend was a _him_. Not her; _him_. Her Edward was dating another man. So . . . that meant that . . . Edward was . . .

_Oh dear_, Trisha murmured to herself.

* * *

Not too much time had passed before Trisha heard footsteps approaching her grave—normally, she wouldn't have noticed something so trite, but her ears had been on high-alert ever since her son had walked away to retrieve his . . . partner—and she swallowed thickly.

"Hey Mom, I want you to meet Lieutenant Roy Mustang," Edward's voice suddenly sounded from behind her. "My . . . boyfriend." Trisha took a steadying breath and then turned to face the two men. The first thing that occurred to her, upon seeing her son's companion, was that Edward had excellent taste.

The man was gorgeous.

The ghostly woman took in the immaculate military uniform and the polished boots, the somehow perfectly-balanced posture of rigidity and relaxation that spoke of dignity and grace, the way one gloved finger was hooked apprehensively into the cuff of her son's sleeve, and his _face_ . . . Even the pale scars running across his cheeks and the swathe of black cloth that covered his left eye couldn't mar his statuesque beauty.

"Roy," Edward said, turning his head to look up at the man, "this is my mother. Trisha Elric."

The lieutenant—Roy Mustang, wasn't it?—smiled softly and dipped at the waist in a short bow, his black hair falling down before his eyes. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Elric," he said to the headstone upon righting himself; his voice was calm, enunciated, and of a deep tenor, emanating from down in his diaphragm, and Trisha Elric very nearly _swooned_.

_Well_, she thought to herself, feeling the blush in her cheeks. _He's polite . . ._

"All right," Edward said suddenly, gently patting Mustang's arm. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

Mustang turned his head to fully face the blonde, unable to glance askance with his bad eye, and asked somewhat warily, "What should I say to her?"

Ed, who had already begun to walk away, looked back over his shoulder at the man and smirked. "Say whatever you want to. Not like she's gonna bite or anything. I mean, she's dead, right?"

Trisha huffed indignantly and Mustang rolled his eye. "You're lack of etiquette and tact never cease to astound me, Ed."

The blonde alchemist snorted and swore and then stalked away in a huff, crossing the small cemetery and depositing himself at the base of a tree. Trisha watched this and sighed in exasperation.

_Even at twenty, he still has that temper . . ._

She sighed once more and looked back to the dark-haired man; he had one corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk and was staring off in the direction that Edward had gone off in, gently shaking his head. "He's something else . . ." Mustang looked back down at her grave. "Isn't he?"

Trisha felt herself smile. _No truer words were ever spoken, I'm sure_, she stated quietly . . . and Mustang smiled as if he heard her. "He's had it tough these past few years," he explained, ". . . and I'm just glad that Edward is still undeniably _Edward_."

The spectral woman regarded the man for a long moment—taking in his sincere smile and the light behind his eyes—before she slowly nodded and spoke: _You and me, both . . ._

A comfortable silence fell between them, though only one person there was truly aware of it. The wind rustled the leaves above them and dusted across the lieutenant, obscuring his ebony hair and causing his butt skirt to flap back and forth in spastic vigour. Trisha, unaffected by the sudden breeze, fiddled with her apron and skirt, smoothing them both out unnecessarily.

"I . . ."

The woman looked up at the sound of Mustang's smooth voice. He had his mouth open, its corners pulled down thoughtfully, and his one eye focused on her headstone. "I really do . . . love your son, you know?"

Trisha's breath caught and she unknowingly clasped her hands together.

The alchemist—she could tell by the transmutation circles sewn onto the backs of his gloves—reached up and ran a hand through his windswept hair nervously. "I think that I fell in love with him from the first moment I saw him . . . No, wait. God, that makes me sound pedophilic . . ." The dark-haired soldier screwed his eye shut and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance; Trisha felt herself smile sympathetically. "What I mean is," he tried again. "What I mean . . . is that it kind of snuck up on me. It just happened in gradual increments . . ." Roy Mustang sighed. "I had already fallen in love with him before I _realized_ that I had fallen in love with him . . . if that makes any sense at all . . .

"After he disappeared for those first two years—that was when I realized how important his presence had been to me. When everyone else said he was dead . . . I knew better. Ed is too stubborn to die . . . That and I didn't want to accept the fact that I had let something _that_ important slip away from me without fighting harder for it . . . I disappeared within myself for a while, not quite willing to fight anymore. Part of it was Edward, but the other was a sort of grievance for my own sins . . . Either way, I only reappeared when Ed made his return."

Mustang took a moment to chuckle. "It was good to see him again . . . Gave me something to live for. And then . . . I had to watch him disappear all over again. I knew that it had to be done—we both had our own goals to accomplish, and his had to take place . . . elsewhere . . . But that didn't mean it hurt any less. The only thing that consoled me was the fact that I got to say goodbye this time. I went on with my own life, slowly re-climbing the ranks; I hardly dared to dream that either Ed or Al would come back again . . . but two years later and there Edward was, looking no worse for wear and telling me that he had missed me. You can guess the rest . . ."

The brunette woman tilted her head to one side, considering all that the man before her had just confessed. It was certainly shocking . . . In one afternoon, she had discovered that, not only was her eldest son in a relationship with another man—and one much older than him, by the looks of it—but also that said man was in _love_ with Edward. It wasn't something that she had been expecting.

However, Trisha Elric was a woman that took things in stride—she had certainly accepted her own death with grace—and this was no different . . . If this man truly made Edward happy, then she would graciously welcome him into her family.

Drifting over to stand before him, Trisha laid one gossamer hand upon his shoulder and smiled up at him. She knew that he couldn't see her, but intuition told her that he could still sense her presence there . . .

Mustang swallowed hard and a smile lit his previously saddened face. "Thank you, Mrs. Elric . . . Just do me one favour?" The alchemist dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and brought a hand up to shield his mouth, in case Edward happened to be looking over their way. "I haven't told Ed that I love him yet. I'm just waiting for the right time . . . so, if we could just keep that between us for the time being?"

Trisha laughed out loud, safe in the knowledge that her new son-in-law, as it were, couldn't hear her. _Your secret is safe with me.

* * *

_

"So . . . what'd you think?"

Edward Elric once again stood over the grave of his mother, tracing the etched lines on the headstone with his eyes; Roy had already said his peace and departed, heading back to the Rockbells', where the couple was staying for the time being.

The blonde had been rather apprehensive about bringing Roy Mustang to his hometown, knowing full well the man's past and how it interwove with that of his childhood friend . . . But Roy had been adamant. He insisted that Ed wasn't the only one that needed to clean his slate.

"_Tabula rasa_," he had said simply, then kissed a blonde temple, and had gone back to his work, leaving the younger alchemist blinking in bleary-eyed confusion.

Sighing heavily, Ed shuffled his feet and pushed his hands further down into his pockets. "I know that you're probably wondering what I see in him. I mean, he's not much to look at—"

That was a total lie; Ed thought that Roy was sexy as _fuck_, but he wasn't going to tell his mother that, deceased or no.

"—and he isn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box—"

Also couldn't be farther from the truth: the man was a brilliant alchemist and tactician, a schemer, and still had a level enough head to know how to stay low on the radar. He was a fucking genius.

"—and god knows that he can be an arrogant, egotistical bastard sometimes . . ."

. . . Okay, so that part was true. Two out of three wasn't bad, right?

Edward shut his eyes wearily, feeling his bangs brush against his closed lids and across the apples of his cheeks. "But . . . he's still good. He's a good soldier . . . and a good alchemist and friend and . . . a good boyfriend."

The blonde man was hesitant to use the word _lover_, not only because he was speaking to his own mother, but because the two of them had yet to have sex. They had both agreed from the get-go that it was for the best to take things slow—Ed being the hopeless virgin that he was and Roy with his long list of failed relationships . . . It was just easier for them to not fall into bed together first thing.

Lowering his face to shield the blush that had crept into his cheeks at the memory—from who, he wasn't sure—Edward continued speaking. "He's a good man. He's just . . . _good_. And I'm pretty sure that I'm falling in love with him . . ."

For some reason that he couldn't explain, Ed held his breath then, waiting for the proverbial hammer to come crashing down on his head. Several moments of tense silence passed, only the trilling of warblers and the distant sound of a cow mooing breaking through the still scene; finally, when Edward was sure that he wasn't going to be struck down on the spot for what he had just confessed—because really, there was only so far you could push Fate before she fought back—he hesitantly straightened his posture and brought his head up.

"Don't tell him that, though," he entreated with a small smirk. "We don't need anything going and tipping his already precariously balanced ego . . . It might kill us all."

A pause; nothing but the gentle Resembool summer swirling around them, stroking Ed's frazzled nerves and running its warm fingers through his hair.

"Mom," he began softly, lowering his gaze. "I . . . I'm sorry. I must be . . . such a disappointment to you. I mean, you have to think that maybe if I'd been a better son, the Bastard wouldn't have left us . . . and you'd still be here. Then, I go and almost get Al killed, I join the military, I let . . . all those people die . . . and then I go and fall for the very man who killed Winry's parents . . ." The blonde alchemist chuckled then, the sad sound tearing its way out of his throat and into the air around him. "You must hate me for what I am . . . And I know that it can't make up for it . . . but I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_ that I'm such a _failure_ . . ."

Edward could feel the burning in his eyes and the tightness in his chest and throat, but he refused to let the tears fall. He wasn't going to cry over his mother's grave—not again . . .

_Edward._

The blonde started and quickly lifted his head, turning a full circle on the spot to see who had spoken to him—but the cemetery was eerily empty of anyone living, besides himself. "That's it," he said with a quiet sigh. "I'm going crazy. I must be; cause that sounded just like—"

_Edward._

Ed literally felt his heart bungee out of his ribcage and down into his toes. _It can't be . . . _"M-mom?" he whispered to the open air; a warmth spread suddenly across his cheek—almost like a hand had settled there—and he felt an otherworldly peace settle over him, lifting all of the weight of the past few days—months, _years_—off of him.

_Edward,_ the calming voice said to him. _How could you think that I could ever hate you . . . or that you'd be a disappointment to me? You are my _son_. The choices you made are what shaped you into the man you are today . . . and I couldn't be more proud of you. You are my son and I love you . . ._

Ed reached up and pressed a hand over the warmth on his face, feeling it radiating against his own palm and hearing the voice of his mother in his head for the first time in a long while . . .

Edward Elric cried tears of joy over his mother's grave.

* * *

Ed made sure to wipe away the last remnants of saline water on his cheeks before he pushed open the front door of the Rockbell home. There were various sounds and smells wafting out of the kitchen and the alchemist figured that Auntie Pinako must have been cooking supper . . . And, judging from the voices, Roy was attempting to lend his assistance. Edward considered going and rescuing him, but then thought better of it—he could also hear Winry's voice. So, he grinned and shook his head . . . Better to let the man be baptized by fire, he supposed.

At least, that way, it was poetic justice.

Making his way away from the kitchen, Ed pushed open the door to the living room and made a beeline for one of the sofas. Alphonse was reclined in one, taking up the whole thing while he read one of his novels, and Ed resisted the urge he felt to sit down on his brother's legs. Choosing to flop down on the second divan instead, Edward picked up his own book and opened it to where he had left off on the train ride over.

"So . . . ?" came the sudden inquiry from Al's direction, sounding gently and wry at the same time. "What'd she say?"

Edward pursed his lips thoughtfully for several moments, listening to the sounds of Pinako yelling from the kitchen, before he finally replied:

"Exactly what I expected her to."

* * *

Trisha Elric firmly believed that family and love were two of the most important things in existence—not just life. She had learned shortly after her passing that they could transcend even the barriers of death . . .

She had spoken to her son and had restored his faith—and at the same time, her own faith—in the bond of family. Edward had been through so much and now seemed truly happy with what he had . . . and Trisha thought that this Roy Mustang, even from their brief meeting, would match Edward perfectly. Alphonse was settling down with Winry, who the woman _knew_ would be good for him.

They were happy. They had family and they knew love . . . Her sons were safe and happy and _that_ was what Trisha Elric had been waiting for.

So, only then did she once again feel the warmth and gentle weight of the Light on her shoulders, hearing a voice that reminded her of her husband's calling down to her . . .

Her sons knew happiness, love, and family.

So, only then . . .

_Heaven came._


	16. Dogs

**I'm still alive, yes. I know that I'm supposed to be working on LF, but . . . I just can't seem to get it out of my head and onto paper . . . And now, I have these little plot bunnies chewing on my ears. So . . . yeah. Here it is.**

**- + -**

**Dogs**

"Roy?"

". . . Hm?"

"What is that thing?"

"Well Ed . . . you _are_ a genius. I thought that you of all people would know what a dog looks like."

Edward Elric scowled; first up at his lover and then back down to the tawny and white bundle of hyperactivity hovering near his feet. Coffee-brown eyes stared up at him and a pink tongue lolled out the side of a smiling mouth. The blonde turned back to Roy. "I _know_ that it's a dog, asswipe. I want to know what it's doing _here_. In our _house_?"

The elder alchemist sighed heavily and shrugged his shoulders against the restraint of his heavy trench. "I just figured that we needed a dog. I mean . . . now that you and your brother have accomplished your goal and I don't have to send you off on anymore missions—" This earned a derisive snort and a roll of golden eyes from Ed. "—you're here all day by yourself while I'm at the office. So . . ." Roy trailed off deliberately.

Let Ed fill in the blanks and pauses.

As if by a will of its own, one of the blonde's brows climbed up his forehead and disappeared behind his flaxen fringe. "So you thought that I needed someone . . . or some_thing_ to keep me company? So that I wouldn't get _lonely_?"

Roy turned his head away slightly. ". . . Basically," he answered.

The chubby little dog yipped.

"You are impossible!" Ed exclaimed, flapping his arms. This seemed to agitate their newest housemate, who spun about in a tight circle on its short legs and barked excitedly at its blonde master. Ignoring the puppy, Edward continued to holler at his lover. "I'm perfectly fine on my own!"

The older man turned back to the ex-Fullmetal, a smirk suddenly adorning his face. "Ah, so is that the reason that you practically _maul_ me when I come home from the office every night?"

Edward's wind-milling arms stopped their spastic motion, hanging suspended in midair; his jaw went slack and he began to sputter incoherently. Roy just grinned to himself as he watched the blush spread out across his lover's nose, cheeks, and down his throat. He found it amusing how, even though they'd been seeing each other now for years, Ed still got overly embarrassed by some of the more . . . suggestive things that the elder said.

It was cute how prudish he still was.

The little dog stopped in its prancing as well, its fox-like head tilted back to look up between the two of them oddly, its huge ears perked up and mouth hanging open.

"_No!_" Ed shouted when his voice had finally returned to him.

And, because Roy was some sort of masochist, he only grinned wider and taunted. "Oh? So . . . it's because I'm irresistible to you? You think I'm dead sexy?"

The blonde turned into a tomato once again. "You're gonna be _dead_ sexy if you don't shut up!" he screeched, waving his once-automail arm around menacingly.

Chuckling, Roy caught ahold of the gyrating fist and pulled the young man into a hug; Edward only resisted a bit before melting into the embrace, growling in the back of his throat.

The dog growled, too, edging up to practically stand on Roy's feet and stare up at him.

"See?" The Flame cajoled, rubbing his cheek against Edward's blonde head and running his hands up and down his back. "She likes you already. Trying to protect you from me." Even as the younger grumbled a bit, Roy felt the press of fingertips against his lower back and he smiled into a golden halo of hair. "Seriously Ed . . . I worry about you here, by yourself."

There was a pause, followed by muffled huff. "Afraid I might get into something if I'm left alone?" he replied scathingly.

Roy frowned and whispered, "You know that's not what I meant."

". . . Yeah. I know."

The dark-haired man sighed. "So, will you keep the dog?" he questioned, pulling back to look down at his lover.

The blonde closed his eyes and breathed out placidly. "I guess so. If it makes _you_ happy," he replied in unusually quiet tones. Roy smirked.

The chubby dog at their feet mewled and scooted closer, craving some attention from its new masters.

Edward sighed and pulled away from Roy to bend over and scoop the little canine up into his arms. She wiggled and panted and attempted to lick his face off, even as he pulled away from her. Roy chuckled in amusement at the look of contorted aggravation on his lover's face.

"So . . ." Ed said, holding the wriggling ball of fur at arms length; her whole body shook as she wagged her—well, not her tail, per se—when she wagged the little stump where her tail was supposed to be. "What's her name?"

"The breeder said his daughter called her Kara," Roy said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up by the door to the foyer.

"Kara," the blonde said slowly, rolling the name around on his tongue, as if tasting it. He finally shrugged—his sign that he approved of it. "It's okay, I guess—better than anything we could come up with, I'm sure. Besides, she already knows that name. Why change it and confuse her?" Sighing, he tucked the fat little dog under his arm and started for the kitchen. "Me and Kara are going eat now," he deadpanned.

Roy smirked and called after him. "You two will be fast friends. I just know it."

"You know," the younger alchemist said, pausing to look back over his shoulder, "the company is . . . _nice_ and all . . . but there's really only one dog who I want to spend my time with."

The smirk slipped down to a genuine smile. "Yeah, me too." Edward winked and shifted the load under his arm, turning away once again. Roy watched him depart appreciatively, before loosening his collar and calling out, "But despite that . . . it'll be good practice for us both. Y'know . . . for when we have kids."

And poor little Kara let out a yelp of surprise as Edward dropped her.

- + -

**Man, I'm tired. Good thing I don't have to go to work til 2:30 tomorrow. (yawns) This didn't turn out exactly like I wanted it to . . . but I'm happy that I at least got _something_ out. **

**For those of you who care, the doggy in this fic was a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, which is just the cutest breed of dog in the world. (looks at her corgi, Sooner) Yes, yous is! Yous is jus' the cutest wittle boy! (makes kissy sounds)**

**Also, since I'm sure some of y'all recognized the name, yes, the dog was named after Kara (NeoDiji). It's sort of a dedication to her for all of her uber-great help on LF. Thank you, Kara! huggles**


	17. Bed

**I was making my bed the other day and this is what came to mind.**

**Warning: This drabble stems from my need to write something stupid, silly, and utterly pointless. Don't expect anything award-winning.**

**You have been warned.

* * *

**

**Bed**

Roy Mustang was a man who liked to come home from work early.

It wasn't only because of the fact that, in order to come home from work early, one had to also _get off of work early_—which, knowing his first lieutenant, was a hard task to accomplish without getting winged by a passing bullet—but because of what often greeted him whenever he did:

Edward Elric being _domestic_.

Most times it was nothing big—he would simply be doing the dishes when the sink got piled too high or cooking a simple dinner for the both of them. However, even that was enough to get him blushing and stuttering angry excuses when the general came home earlier than planned.

Now, sometimes, on rare occasions, the blonde would be doing more . . . _effeminate_ things. For instance, at one time, Roy returned to find his young lover dusting the bric-a-brac on the living room shelves.

_Dusting._

Edward had screeched at him about having nothing better to do and the damn things were so filthy he could barely breathe for all the dust in the air and Roy could just _stop_ looking at him like that, _goddammit!_ He had then thrown his dusting rag at Mustang's smirking face and stomped off to the library.

The Flame had at least had the decency to wait until the door slammed shut before he collapsed on the couch with laughter. He hadn't been able to sleep in his own bed for a week, but it had been worth it, in his opinion.

It always was.

Just like now . . .

It was Friday and Hawkeye—who was truly a merciful, merciful god—had taken pity on all of them and let them clock out early. Roy had headed straight home and, knowing what he was likely to find awaiting him there, had silently slipped in and sought out his lover . . .

. . . Who, as it turned out, happened to be in their bedroom.

The dark-haired alchemist had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from chuckling at the sight: Ed was sprawled out on his stomach in their bed, one bare automail foot holding down a corner of the fitted sheet, while he yanked and pulled at another, trying to get it neatly tucked onto the opposing corner.

Roy wasn't sure if the young man realized that he had the thing on sideways.

Somehow or another, Edward finally managed to hook all of the corners unevenly down and sat up in the middle of the bed to admire his handiwork. He was reaching up to wipe away the beads of perspiration that had started to condense on his forehead . . . when he finally noticed his lover standing in the doorway, grinning like a madman.

The two of them regarded each other for a long moment—one looking decidedly smug and the other just plain horrified—before the blonde growled and opened his mouth to let loose a scathing remark . . .

The four corners of the fitted sheet chose this moment to simultaneously pop loose, fluttering down and pillowing around Ed like a puffy, silky cloud.

The blonde glared at the sheet for a second, as if insulted that it hadn't stayed where he had directed it, and then slapped the mattress with an automail palm. "Dammit!" he yelled at the bed. And Roy just couldn't help himself.

He laughed.

He laughed long and hard at his sulking spouse, and even the sting of a high-velocity pillow to his face wasn't enough to make him stop.

* * *

**See? Pointless. I'm going to bed now.**


	18. Just This Once

**Guess whose birthday it is today (Oct. 11th)? Not mine . . . not Nana's (though, hers is coming up in a few days). It _is_ my mom's birthday, but y'all don't care about that. Give up?**

**It's Edward's. (nods) I've written him a birthday drabble to honour the occasion. Enjoy!

* * *

**

**Just This Once**

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Y'know, just as friends."

_It isn't fair_, Edward Elric thought as he looked up from his work, blinking in surprise at the man before him._ It isn't fair that you have his face and voice and _aren't_ him. Who knew God hated me that much . . ._

"What's the occasion?" he asked with a lopsided grin, easily overcoming the loss of breath and the painful pull in his chest that he got every time he saw the man. _It _isn't_ him_, he told himself for the umpteenth time.

The dark brows knitted together in bemusement and Ed had to catch himself from gasping as that damn _smirk_ tugged at the corners of the older man's lips. "It's your birthday today, isn't it? Don't tell me you forgot . . ."

The blonde blinked and turned to examine his day planner, looking for Wednesday. _Well, I'll be damned . . ._ October 11th. _I guess I did forget._ "Oh . . ." He looked up at the dark-haired man and grinned sheepishly, reaching up to scratch at the crown of his head, just below his ponytail—it was a nervous habit that he'd have to look into correcting. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

The smirk slipped to an understanding smile. "You've been working really hard lately—I haven't known you very long, but I suppose that this throwing yourself into work is a commonplace thing . . . That said, I'm not entirely surprised that you'd forget something as _mundane_ as your own birthday." Edward snorted at the sarcastic remark and glared at the man with little venom. Dark eyes glittered with amusement and a grin split his face. "So, where do you want to go?" he asked.

"I . . ." Edward hesitated. He shouldn't—Alfons had been putting in extra hours to get more research done, working furiously and losing sleep to help him. His brother's alter may not have believed him as far as his tales of the Other Side of the Gate went, but he was accommodating and helped Ed with his own studies and experiments. He and Alfons were actually supposed to be going to speak to a scientist named Hermann Oberth—his doctoral dissertation might have been rejected by the University of Munich as "utopian", but the two blondes thought that a talk with him would be quite enlightening. It would be a big step for both of them. So, no . . . he couldn't go to dinner.

He _couldn't_.

". . . How about Sardi's?" he heard himself say meekly.

"All right," the man said with a nod, sounding pleased. "I'll meet you back here at about eight." And, with that, he turned and departed, waving at Edward over his shoulder.

He wanted to take it back. _He isn't Roy_, a voice in his head screamed. _He may look and sound like him, but he's not your smart-ass, bastard colonel. This Roy doesn't love you . . . Take it back!_

Ed wanted to . . . but in the end, all he could do was murmur, "Kay."

As he watched his lover's alter leave the shop, the tail of his tan trench slapping at the backs of his legs, the blonde smiled, slow and sad. No, it wasn't his Roy; this doppelganger didn't throw out short jokes at him as a form of foreplay, couldn't argue alchemic theory with him for hours on end, couldn't snap his fingers and spark life, hadn't taken his virginity and his heart all in one fell swoop or whispered vows of forever against his temple . . . This wasn't Roy and he knew that it would be horribly selfish of him to indulge in his own fantasies with this copy—even if they were just in his own head—when the real thing was waiting for him on the other side.

Deep down, he knew that.

But it was his eighteenth birthday. And he felt that he could be selfish and treat himself to dinner just this once . . .

* * *

**(sighs) Poor Ed. I've just been tormenting him recently . . .**

**For anyone interested, the scientist they were going to visit—Hermann Oberth—actually existed. He's considered one of the founding fathers of astronautics and rocketry. I figured that if CoS could use real people, then so could I.**


End file.
